


Bucknall House

by JayDelahaye



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Class Differences, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Nobility, Nobility/Servants, Servants, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, great houses au, vaguely downton abbey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-22
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-03-08 14:05:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 47
Words: 139,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3211895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayDelahaye/pseuds/JayDelahaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a very long time since John Smith has had much of a home, but he seems to have finally found one, working as a handyman at Bucknall House. When the Earl and Countess of Powell's daughter Rose comes home from school, however, both John and the Tyler family find their lives turned upside down - and what shakes out will change the household forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This has been coming out in fits and starts since the summer, when I had a job in a hundred-year-old kitchen with a perennially clogged sink. While it's inspired by Downton Abbey and other great houses and the like, the location is fictional so I can play around with roles and norms a bit - though there are still plenty of rules! 
> 
> Our John Smith has a lot of darkness in his past, and the Tyler family isn't without secrets either, so I'll be trying my best to make note of any potentially triggering bits on each chapter. Please give me a heads up if I miss anything! 
> 
> Aaaand if you want to help with beta-ing, please do!

The drain was clogged. 

The drain was clogged for the third time in less than a week. And for the third time in less than a week, it was John who was up to his elbows in dirty, greasy water, jamming a plunger up and down in a futile attempt to clean the sink. "John!" Mrs. Grant, the head cook had hollered. "The sink's backed up again! Get on it!"

John had been hearing some variation on that set of phrases at least once a day for the past three months, ever since he’d been hired on at Bucknall House as a handyman and errand boy. His friends in town had warned him about the Powell estate - the goings-on of the Tyler family and their staff were the top choice of gossip subjects at all the pubs and shops. Even still, though staff turnover at the estate had been sky-high in the past few years, it wasn't like there were a lot of jobs in Bucknall. Now, as winter slowly melted away, he'd come to the conclusion that a large portion of the estate's problems stemmed from a long-standing practice of only requiring prospective employees to have a pulse, rather than any practical skills. His new colleagues had assured him that standards had been raised in the past year or so, but John was finding the damage the old staff had done was lingering on in their wake.

He took a break from plunging to wipe his brow and watch the few people crossing the damp driveway outside the window. For a moment he could block out the clatter of pots and pans and the cook barking orders behind him and think about spring. There would be new livestock, crops to plant and tend, winter weather damage to patch up. He had a few plans for work he might do at the House - repair the stoves, fix the rafters in the barn before they collapsed, clear out the east garden and its scraggly flowers. Unfortunately, John was shaken from his musings by his friend Donna grabbing his shoulder.

"Did you even hear a word of that?"

"Huh? A word of what?" John was a little disoriented; he'd been lost in his thoughts and Donna, her Ladyship's maid, was rarely in the kitchen outside of mealtimes. He turned around to find the staff behind him had put on a sudden burst of speed.

Donna sighed. "Mrs. Smith was just in here. You're lucky she didn't notice you with your head in the clouds," he said.

"Oh." Lucky indeed, the last thing he needed was the housekeeper on his arse as well. John went to run his hand through his messy brown hair, but remembered the sink it had been in and thought better. "What'd she say?"

"What else would get these folks to suddenly develop a sense of urgency? Lady Rose is coming home next month."

"His Lordship's daughter?"

"No, the other Lady Rose. Yes, his Lordship's daughter, Dumbo. She's graduating soon and will be here for the next year at least."

John had never met Lady Rose Tyler. The young woman was at a small college in another part of the province, presumably learning about etiquette and charity fundraising and whatever else it was aristocratic ladies were meant to do. Education seemed to be the only thing her father was able to invest in responsibly, since Lady Rose and her brother Master Anthony's tuition never came up in the hushed discussions of Bucknall finances. Lady Rose had already returned to college from winter break by the time John had been hired, and all he knew about her was that she was very kind and sweet, and did well at school. The butler, Mr. Mott, seemed to have a particular fondness for her but with his sense of decorum, one wasn't able to get much out of him.

Never having had much cause to be involved in work directly concerning the family, John's reaction wasn't in the same vein as his colleagues'. "So I suppose we'll have some extra work to do," he remarked.

"Some extra work?" Donna shrieked. "Forget any plans you had, John. Lady Rose hasn't been home this long since she was a child, and she's turning twenty-one less than a week after she arrives, and she’s bringing friends. This whole place is going to be turned upside down."

And so it was. As soon as John had the sink unclogged, he was accosted by Mr. Mott himself, who recruited John and Donna to assess the state of Lady Rose's rooms and make note of the preparations and repairs to be done before her arrival. They were joined by her mother, the formidable Jacqueline Tyler, Countess of Powell.

"I want all these drapes replaced. Something lighter and more mature. Miss Noble, we'll go into the city on the weekend to look at fabric. We'll find new linens and bedclothes too. And this rug has got to go." Lady Powell picked at everything in the bedroom, from the lamps to the wardrobe, before swooping into Rose's closet to go through her old clothes.

John inspected the windows. "These frames are leaking like a sieve. She must have been freezing over Christmas, even with these drapes."

"I never heard her say anything," Mr. Mott said.

"Well, she wouldn't have complained, would she?" Donna sighed. "Too kind for her own good, sometimes, that girl." John had moved to the fireplace, fiddling with the lever for the flue and sticking his head in to look up the chimney. "Careful there-" Donna warned, just as a pile of soot rained down. John barely scrambled back in time to avoid a face full of it.

"When was the last time this was cleaned?" he sputtered. Mr. Mott didn't seem to know. John realized that the darkness of the room came less from the heavy window dressings and furniture, and more from a poorly maintained fireplace. It was probably better that Lady Rose hadn't spent much time here over the past few years.

"Oh don't you worry about all that," Lady Powell chirped, draping a pile of dresses onto the bed. "A lick of paint will do just fine, and then this place will be all cheered up. Now Miss Noble, let's get these down to the sewing room, Gwen says Rose has grown a bit since last season and we might have to do some alterations." Donna picked up the pile and Lady Powell grabbed more clothes from the dressing room, and the women headed out.

John stumbled over a loose floorboard and Mr. Mott tutted at him to watch his step. "And would you ask the same of Lady Rose?" John retorted.

Mr. Mott pulled himself up to his full height (which wasn't much, but still enough to unnerve John) and said, in an even tone, "John, I do hope you're able to follow this family's instructions."

"Yes Mr. Mott, of course," he answered. "I am only concerned that those instructions don't stray too far from... what's practical." It was probably the most diplomatic thing he could say at the moment.

Mr. Mott seemed to soften a little, even letting out what seemed like a sigh. "I understand. But mind your tongue, and your time. Lady Powell is always rather precise in her direction and would not take kindly to any evidence of disobedience, or neglect of her projects in favour of others, no matter how...  practical. Now, do clean up that grate, then I believe you're wanted in the yard."

John could swear he saw a twitch in the butler's lips and a twinkle in his eye as he left John in the room.

***

The gardener needed help getting Lady Rose's favourite flowers planted. The cook needed orders placed for Lady Rose’s favourite foods. The stable boys needed extra help caring for Lady Rose's favourite horses. The housemaids needed someone tall to dust the top shelves in Lady Rose's favourite room, the library. The footmen needed extra silver polished for Lady Rose's welcome home party. John was the man for all of these and many other jobs. It often wasn't until very late he was able to even think about the other things to do in the House, and many could not be done after dark. So when everyone had gone to bed he was fixing the door to the root cellar, and before they got up he was re-laying bricks in the driveway. He wasn't getting much sleep, and soon it was noticed.

"Oi, Spaceman, back to Earth with you!" Donna poked John in the side with her spoon at breakfast one morning and he nearly jumped out of his chair.

"Have you been sleeping all right?" asked Jack, the first footman and John's roommate. "You're late to bed almost every night."

John shrugged and took a long draught of tea. "Lots of work to do."

"We all have lots of work to do, and it's not keeping us out all hours," Jack said.

"He's taken on a few 'special projects,'" said Donna, rolling her eyes.

"Yes, if you call trying to make sure this place doesn't collapse on us 'special,'" John grumbled. "If you haven't noticed, maintenance isn't exactly a priority around here."

"Look, John, we all care about the place, but think about how much we get paid. It's not worth the hours you're putting in," Jack said. "What's got you so attached to Bucknall House anyway?"

John shrugged. "Not like I have much else to get attached to." Jack and Donna were quiet. They knew John didn't have people in town, or anywhere, really. He had a brother, but didn’t know where Irving was these days - they hadn’t spoken since John left home at sixteen. He’d been travelling ever since, and had built a makeshift network out of whatever people he met along the way, eventually ending up in a cheerless room above Bucknall's shadiest pub. He’d admired the House from the day he’d come to town two years ago, charmed by its tower and big windows and sprawling gardens. It wasn’t the biggest, or even the grandest stately home that John had seen, but something spoke to him about the place.

Jack broke the silence first, clapping John on the back. “Well, don’t wear yourself out on it. We need you in top shape.” John forced a smile and poked at his meal. Just a few more weeks to go.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lady Rose arrives. Donna gets a letter. John is stuck dealing with an old associate.

Lady Rose Tyler stepped off the train, took a deep breath, and grinned. Almost home, she thought, moving aside to let her friends disembark. They had been travelling all morning, first in cars from their dormitories to the train station, switching trains in the City, and now Lady Rose scanned the platform for her family’s chauffeur, who would take them on the final leg.

“Strax! There you are!” she called, motioning for her friends to follow her. The diminutive man had nearly been lost in the swarm of taller passengers. “It’s so lovely to see you.”

“And you as well, my lady. Shall we be off?”

Strax had brought along three other cars and drivers, as well as driving Lord Powell’s beloved green roadster himself, but it was a tight squeeze nonetheless. Lady Rose pulled her best friends into the back seat of the roadster, thrilled that the weather was fine and Strax had put the top down. It was unseasonably warm for April, and she took off her hat so she could feel the breeze better. Her hair was a mess by the time they arrived, but with her hat back on she hoped her mother wouldn’t notice.

Lady Powell was already on the front steps when Strax opened the car door, and Lady Rose barely had time to stand up straight before her mother pulled her into a hug.

“Oh, Rose! I’m so glad you’re home!”

“Mum! You’re acting like you didn’t see me two weeks ago at graduation,” Rose squeaked.

Lady Powell finally released her daughter from her embrace, though held onto her shoulders. “But now I get to see you properly. Look at your hair! Strax should have put the top up. Shareen, darling!” She turned to Rose’s friends, giving all of them equally fierce hugs, just in time for Rose to be nearly bowled over by her little brother Anthony. The ten-year-old clung to her knees until Rose knelt to talk to him, then she greeted her father, who was much more calm in his welcome.

Soon they were inside and her guests were being shown to their rooms. Lady Rose took another deep breath in the great hall, this time letting the familiar scent of home settle into her lungs.

 

***

 

The day Lady Rose finally arrived was, as far as she and her parents were concerned, perfect and lovely in every way.

Behind the scenes, it was chaos. John had spent two weeks sealing windows, sanding floors and touching up paint in Lady Rose’s bedroom and all the guest rooms, thankful for the assistance of a few houseboys. The work was frantic enough already.

On the big day, John didn't stop moving, from the moment he got to the kitchen at sunrise until well after dark. All the guest rooms had been opened up for Lady Rose's school friends and extended family. He stood over the sink and scarfed down some toast before being pulled away to haul planters out to the driveway, move furniture from one room to another and then back again, help feed, water and exercise some of the horses, peel potatoes, polish plates, and of all things, unclog the kitchen sink. He caught glimpses of Donna and the other maids as they arranged clothes and cleaned rooms, but only long enough to exchange weary sighs and strained smiles. Things broke, and spilled, and ripped; cooks cut themselves and housemaids dropped things on their feet; deliveries were late and the car wouldn't start. If John could have actually been in more than one place at the same time, it would have been demanded of him.

He wasn’t even there when Lady Rose and her retinue arrived in the early afternoon. Instead, he was in an upstairs room desperately trying to finish painting before anyone could be settled into it. John was thankful he wasn’t part of the main staff, so he didn't have to participate in any of the formalities associated with comings and goings.

John glanced out the window when he heard the cars arrive, and observed a well-dressed blonde alight from a car to embrace Lord and Lady Tyler and Master Anthony. She was accompanied by a small cadre of young ladies and, to John's surprise, a few young men. These must have been the schoolmates from further afield that were mentioned. He was too far up and at the wrong angle to see anyone's faces, but they all seemed vibrant and self-assured and thrilled to be at Bucknall House and in each others' company. As the family and their guests swept back inside, the staff from the house and the cars began trucking in luggage, and John turned back to his work.

At dinner, Lady Rose and the visitors were all any of the other staff could talk about. There was oohing and ahhing over their clothing, comments on how much Lady Rose and her friends had grown in the past year, and who else might be coming to the party at the end of the week. The kitchen was crowded with the servants the guests had brought along, and Lady Rose’s maid, Gwen, was centre of attention. John let all of the conversation float past his ears, keeping his head down and trying not to roll his eyes, until Donna jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow.

“Oi!” he squeaked. “You need to stop doing that.”

“Oi yourself, Spaceman. I asked you a question,” she grumbled.

“Sorry. What was it?”

Donna sighed. “I need you to look at this.” She pulled a letter from her pocket and passed it over. “It’s from my mother.”

John scanned Sylvia Noble’s elegant handwriting. “So she’s disappointed in your life choices again. What else is new?”

“The second last paragraph.”

“Wait, she’s trying to set you up? Who the hell is Lance, and why did she tell him you were interested?”

“We grew up on the same street. I’ve never had any interest in him, she told him I do because she’s manipulative and never listens to me.” Donna took back the letter. “She wants to arrange a visit. I wrote back and put her off because of how busy we are, but it won’t keep her away long.”

John rubbed Donna’s shoulder reassuringly. “You’re going to have to stand up to her in person eventually.”

“I know, it’s just hard when I feel like everything she says about me is true. I _am_ getting older. I probably could have continued with school. I probably should be working a better job. But I can’t.”

“Nonsense. You’re brilliant, Donna Noble. You’re efficient and organized and caring and smart and all sorts of other wonderful things. You could do any job you wanted, really,” he said. “And lady’s maid to a countess is nothing to sniff at, your mum doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

“I suppose.” She tucked the letter away and took a long drink of water. “Thanks. I needed that.”

“It’s what I’m here for.” Something caught John’s eye across the table. “That and keeping Jack in line. Jack!” The footman’s head snapped from the visiting maid he was talking to. “Stop it.”

“I was just saying hello!”

 

***

 

Somehow John managed to get a bit of time to look after his own projects, starting with a trip into town for supplies. Without an official budget, John went where he always went when he needed things at a discount: his old landlord from the pub, Dorium Maldovar. Dorium had been a terrible barman and a worse landlord, more interested in his ‘business ventures’ than offering a decent pint or a clean room. He made far more money trading with unsavoury characters than he did with the pub anyway, though John never could figure out how a small town like Bucknall ever became a black market hub. Nevertheless, Dorium had connections, and in exchange for a few favours, John could get a break on his rent or a new pair of boots, and now that he was at the House, a discount on lumber or some obscure ingredient for Mrs. Grant.

“John boy!” Dorium exclaimed upon John’s entrance to the pub. John winced at the nickname. “What brings you back here?”

“Just picking up my order,” John said, ignoring Dorium’s deliberate obtuseness. He drummed his fingers on the wooden bar top, not wanting to stay much longer than he needed to. The place was completely empty save for the two of them, but there were too many uncomfortable memories.

Dorium went to the back and retrieved an old wooden crate, plopping it on the bar unceremoniously. “There you go. All you need for leaky windows,” he said as John inspected the contents.

“And the glass?”

“It’ll be delivered tomorrow. And how will you be paying?”

“With cash,” John said, fishing a handful of notes out of his trouser pocket and fixing Dorium with a hard glare. He’d already stuck his neck out on this one, finding a corner of the estate’s forest where Dorium could grow some less than legal plants. He wasn’t getting anything else.

Dorium took the money with a scowl. “That hostess from the club in the city keeps asking about you. Versailles, remember? You seem to have made quite an impression.”

“That’s nice,” he said, focusing on heaving the crate into his arms.

“She said she’s told all her friends about you. I’ve got quite the referral list, if you’re interested.”

“I don’t do that anymore, Dorium.” John should’ve known better than to expect to get out without another proposition.

“A shame. They don’t seem to have anyone else that quite… measures up. The door’s always open if you change your mind.”

“I won’t. Thanks for the supplies." It had been two years. He wasn't going back.

“A pleasure doing business with you,” the barman said. But John was already out the door.

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lady Rose and John meet - though they don't know it yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the interest in the story so far! We're going to start playing with different characters knowing different things and not knowing that they know or don't know, but *we* know, and that will be fun. Sometimes. 
> 
> Also, not gonna lie, for this chapter I basically spent an afternoon ogling pretty flapper dresses so we can all imagine how gorgeous the girls look. Because SEQUINS. Here's Rose's dress: http://metmuseum.org/collection/the-collection-online/search/155940 and Martha's: http://metmuseum.org/collection/the-collection-online/search/155976. Gotta get the bling out!

Lady Rose’s birthday was at the end of the week. She and her friends had settled in and were enjoying the freedom to explore the grounds, visit the village, and ride on the trails through the nearby woods. More guests arrived on the day of the party, including her childhood friend Mickey Smith. Mickey’s family weren’t aristocrats, but had amassed a considerable amount of wealth investing in automobiles just as they became popular. His father had passed away the year before, and he had taken over the family business trading and repairing cars, which he staunchly kept in the village despite offers to relocate to a larger town.

“It’s about taking care of this community,” he told Lady Rose on their walk after luncheon. “There really aren’t that many opportunities around here for folks to better themselves, learn a skill they can take with them or provide for their families. I’m not going to leave Bucknall.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” she replied. “People here deserve it. And Bucknall wouldn’t be the same without you.”

Mickey ducked his head and smiled. “It’s been lonely without you around, Rose. Everyone has gone away to school, or gotten married, or joined the foreign service or the army… We’re all quite busy, or too far to come visit very often. It’s good to have you back.”

Rose stopped their walk with a hand on Mickey’s arm, and pulled him into a hug. “It’s good to be back too. And speaking of which, we’d best start back towards the house. It’s almost time to change for the party.”

Back in her room, Rose gathered her friends to get ready, and chatted with her lady’s maid, Gwen, about goings-on around the house over the past little while. Gwen had just been hired recently, first charged with helping Rose pack and get ready for graduation, then going ahead to prepare her rooms at Bucknall House. They were close in age and got along like old friends, tuning out Shareen and Keisha’s tittering for a moment.  

“Has my mother mentioned anything about who she’s invited to this party?” Rose asked, watching in the mirror as Gwen pinned a sparkling clip in her hair.

“I’ve not heard any specifics, my lady, though Mrs. Smith and Miss Noble think there may be quite the parade of suitors coming your way,” she answered. “They’ve had to make room for a number of valets and footmen, and gave quite the warning to the maids about them.”

Rose sighed, smiling wryly. “Of course there is. And don’t you mind Mrs. Smith, if there’s one who takes your fancy, you go for it.” She noticed a knowing look on Gwen’s face and prodded further. “Is there someone?”

“Rhys from the grocer’s has been coming with the deliveries lately. He’s got such a lovely smile.”

“Oh, that's fantastic! I do like a nice smile. And a nice bum.” Rose and Gwen giggled as Rose stood and twirled in her bright pink dress. “Thank you Gwen, it’s perfect. Oh, Martha!” she exclaimed as her friend emerged from her dressing room. “You look gorgeous!”

Her friend grinned and smoothed the rich green fabric down. It flattered her dark skin and slight figure, swirling around her knees. “Thanks, Rose. And thank you for helping me get ready, Gwen, you didn’t have to.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” Gwen said, as the other ladies swooped around her.

“Are you sure this is okay?” Martha asked.

“It’s perfect, darling,” Shareen gushed. “If your dance card isn’t full in the first ten minutes, you take it back to the dressmaker and demand a refund.”

Martha, a merchant’s daughter with a talent for the sciences, had barely gotten used to aristocratic gatherings while they were at school. Rose’s party was an all-out ball, on another level entirely. But getting ready together was something the four of them always did at school, and with Gwen’s help, they swapped jewelry, adjusted hairstyles, and sipped gin before going downstairs.

“You too, Gwen,” Rose said, offering her maid one of the little glasses. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

She accepted hesitantly as they exchanged knowing glances. “I think it’s almost time for you to go downstairs, my lady.”

“It’s my party, it’ll start whenever I decide,” Rose said cheekily. “Cheers!”

 

***

 

As far as John was concerned, if nobody had given him any official responsibilities for this ball, he wasn’t going anywhere near it. He had helped with setting things up, and he knew he’d probably be needed to help clear up after all the guests had turned in, but that wouldn’t be for hours. With almost all of his materials assembled, John decided it would be the perfect evening to do as much work as he could on the west tower room.

“Tower” was an exaggeration, as the feature on the west side of the castle was more of a spacious turret and not particularly tall. At the very top of the curving stone staircase was a round room completely lined with recessed windows. John had stumbled across it one day early on in his employment, while exploring back staircases and closed-off rooms that had been glossed over on his official tour.  Its sparse furnishings - a table and chair, a pile of cushions in the largest window - had been completely covered in dust and smelled of age, and most likely mouse droppings. The windows had a gorgeous view, however, and when he’d gone up there for the first time at sunset the whole room was flooded with golden light, dust motes floating in the air, and it claimed a spot in John’s head and wouldn’t let go.

John had salvaged what he could and replaced the windowpanes the day before. On the day of the party, once he’d done his bit hauling tables and chairs with the footmen, he set about fixing the floors. The old wood had grown rough and even rotted in some places, and he carefully moved around the room pulling out boards and piling them to one side. He’d almost finished, with voices and music floating up from the gardens at the tower’s foot, when he came across a section of wood that wasn’t nailed down.

John fell back from the wall with an ‘oomph’ as he unknowingly yanked harder than necessary on the baseboard. Shaking it off, he noticed a little hole in the wall where a stone was missing and crawled over. He peered in and pulled out a small metal biscuit tin with rusted hinges and a faded flowery logo on the lid.

“A secret hiding place,” John remarked, sitting back on his heels to examine the contents of the tin. A twig with a single dried-out leaf, a broken teacup handle, a toy wolf with a golden ribbon tied around its neck, a bolt, a vial of pale sand. It was an odd assortment to be sure, and John ducked down again to see if anything else was in the hole.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t realise anyone was up here.”

John jumped back at the young woman’s voice. Her upper body had risen above the edge of the floor around the staircase, one hand steadying herself on the cool metal railing.

“Quite all right, miss. Just doing some repairs.” John wasn’t sure how he was forming words, painfully aware of how entranced he was by this interruption. He stood as she finished climbing the steps, vaguely registering her fine pink dress and the gold sequins that shimmered in the light from her lamp and John’s work lights. It was nothing compared to the jolt that went through him when he took in her face, with its wide brown eyes and carefully arranged blonde waves around her cheeks. “You’re here for Lady Rose’s party?”

A flicker of amusement passed over her face. “Yes, I am. But I needed a break. It can get overwhelming having so many people around.”

“I’m sure,” John murmured. He realised he was still staring and ducked his head, reaching to scratch the back of his neck. “How did you manage to find this place? I only discovered it by chance.”

“I’m familiar with the castle,” she said, still smiling mysteriously.

“Been here before then?”

“Oh yes,” she laughed, the tip of her tongue slipping between her teeth. “I have many memories here at Bucknall.” She strode to the window closest to John, peering down at the illuminated gardens, filled with partygoers. “I’ve also escaped many a party up here.”

“Chose a good spot for it,” John said, joining here. “A bit of solitude but you can still see everyone.”

“Indeed,” she replied, not taking her eyes off the party for a long, quiet moment. “I wish you the best on the repairs. This room deserves a bit of love.”

“Thank you,” he answered. “It’s always felt like a special place.”

She smiled at him again now, this time close-lipped and wistful. “That’s because it is,” she said, starting for the stairs. “I suppose I’d better get back.”

“Have a good evening,” John said, and she descended the stairs, moving down in a circle until she was out of sight. He slumped into the window seat, hands gripping the edge of the stone, and let out a huge sigh.

 

***

 

When John finally came down, he was tasked with bringing tables and chairs in from the garden, carrying them to a storage room under the end of the terrace. A small handful of the younger guests lingered on the terrace above, their voices echoing over him as he went back and forth. After the last load had been put away, he locked up the doors and took a moment to linger on the worn steps. It was a lovely night, fresh air filling his lungs with each deep breath.

Sighing as he finally turned to go in, John chanced a glance upwards and his eyes locked onto another very familiar set. The young woman from the tower leaned against the low terrace wall, a glass of wine in one gloved hand, and smiled at him. Of course, she’d already been smiling, but even in the flickering lamplight John saw the set of her jaw and the curve of her lips change when she saw him. And then, as quickly as it came it was gone - she turned back to her friends, and John turned back to the servants’ doors.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lady Powell gets far too excited about Rose's marriage prospects. John faces down his nemesis the kitchen sink once and for all.

A week after the party, the house had calmed down considerably and Lady Rose felt far more content for it. She’d been enjoying the company, but also itching to settle in properly and have fewer, more thoughtful conversations rather than chatting with as many people as possible. The dining room table shrunk with each evening meal, until it was just her parents and a few local friends joining them.

Sir James Stone was still hanging around, and Rose was more than a little curious about this. She had grown up with James, sharing a tutor with him, along with Mickey, Shareen, and Keisha, and when she was younger she may have fancied him a little. However, as it became clear that he intended to coast through life on his relationship to the royal family and the title he’d been granted at an absurdly young age, and that his coffers would fill based on his looks, charms, and talents - whatever they were, he was never quite explicit about that - Rose became less interested. His beliefs and opinions jarred strikingly with hers, and so he hadn’t been among the people she’d missed over the past few years.

So it was that the man’s continued presence at her home perplexed her, until his intentions were revealed over dessert one evening.

“James, I’m told your father is opening up Peckham Hall, is that true?” asked Lord Powell.

“We’re opening it together, actually,” he answered. “He’d like to invest more into the farm, and I’m to supervise an inventory of the house…”

Lady Rose tuned out Sir James’s rambling and studied him out of the corner of her eye. She’d not known James to be particularly talkative, but he was hardly letting her father get a word in edgewise as he went on about paintings and property values. And he kept twitching his fork in his fingers, occasionally tapping the edge of his plate, just infrequently enough to not be noticed. She supposed a lot had changed over the past few years. Perhaps she’d find out more now that they were to be neighbours again, a thought that made her cringe inwardly.

“...wouldn’t that be nice? Rose?”

Rose’s head snapped up at the sound of her name. “I’m sorry, Dad, what did you say?”

“I thought that perhaps you could visit Peckham Hall once James here is settled in, get another perspective on things,” Lord Powell repeated.

“Oh. Yes, perhaps. That would be interesting,” she said, turning back to her pudding. About as interesting as watching paint dry, and probably just as tedious and filled with oppressive fumes, she thought.

“I would love to have your company,” Sir James said. Rose met his eyes and found him staring at her rather intensely, fork still bouncing in his fingers. “It’s been so long since we last caught up.”

“That… that it has,” Rose answered uncomfortably, glancing between Sir James and her father, hoping he’d notice her distaste.

After dinner, she found out he had. Most of the guests had gone home or retired, and Rose was sharing one last cup of tea in the library with Mickey, Martha, and her parents. Her mother was rather enthusiastic about the prospect of Rose and James spending time together.

“Certainly it’s an advantageous match, but oh Rose, you’d still be close to home, and you’ve known each other since you were children!”

“Mum, we’ve hardly spoken since I was fourteen,” Rose sighed, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

“Then visiting Peckham Hall will be a perfect chance to catch up! Mickey, have you seen James much recently?”

“No, I haven’t. He spends most of his time in the Capital these days,” Mickey said.

“He must be so busy with that business of his. Rose, you must find out more about it.”

Rose barely stifled a sigh. “Mum…”

“We’ll see how things go, Jacqueline,” Lord Powell interrupted. “Rose has just returned home, no need to rush her into anything.” Rose felt the tension in her shoulders melt somewhat, as her father changed the subject by talking to Mickey about road conditions between Bucknall and the next town.

She and Martha saw Mickey to the door after her parents had gone to bed.

“Your mum’s really on about you getting married, isn’t she?” Martha commented.

“She never really wanted me to go to college,” Rose said. “She had me do the season when I was eighteen and wanted me to find a husband right away, but of course that didn’t happen. Mum’s proud of me to be sure, but she has this checklist of things for me to do that doesn’t always match my own goals. The important thing is that it’s not going to be Sir James Stone. If I recall correctly, Mickey, he once said that a woman with a degree would be useless as a wife.”

“That he did,” Mickey said. “Right before you left for school. I didn’t mention it in front of your parents, but I have heard a few things about him recently, none of them good.”

Rose frowned. “Like what?”

“Rarely anything specific, but I’m led to believe his business dealings are less than above board, and that they’re the least unsavoury things about him,” he explained. “I can’t imagine that having him back in Bucknall will do much good for anyone.”

“I suppose we’ll find out soon enough,” Rose said. “Perhaps I will go visit him, just to see what’s going on. Goodness knows we could use some intrigue around here.”

They laughed, and Mickey bade them good night. “Shall I still see you tomorrow, Martha?”

“Yes, eleven o’clock. I’ll be there,” she said.

Rose gave Martha an amused look as she shut the door behind MIckey and they started towards the stairs. “Eleven o’clock tomorrow?”

Martha blushed a little, but insisted it was nothing. “He’s introducing me to Dr. Shaw, in the village. He mentioned me to her and she said she was interested in meeting me, maybe taking me on as an apprentice.”

“Martha, that’s brilliant!” Rose exclaimed. “Dr. Shaw is wonderful, you’ll learn so much from her. And we’ll be together here in Bucknall! You must stay with us.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Rose, I haven’t even met her yet! But I would love to stay, thank you.”

By now they had reached the bedrooms, and gave each other a hug before turning in. Perhaps being back at home would be more exciting than she’d thought.

 

***

 

Spring was passing quicker than expected, and John was still keeping up his extended work schedule. Once or twice he’d been caught at it when he was meant to be doing something else, but with his resourcefulness and skills, the costs were low and the results were excellent. Paired with his natural charm, Mr. Mott and Mrs. Smith kept letting him off with warnings.

Then Lord Powell noticed.

It was the bloody kitchen sink again. After unclogging it one too many times, John waited until the last of the kitchen staff had gone to bed and crept back downstairs to get the drain fixed once and for all.

He shut off the water supply to the sink and crawled under with his tools, the rough stone floor cool against his hands and knees. John quickly became immersed in his task, taking apart and cleaning out the pipes, and eventually tracked the blockage down to where the pipe entered the floor. Of course, the moment John unearthed a rather large conglomeration of grease, hair, and old food with a triumphant “Hah!” was the moment Lord Peter Tyler, Earl of Powell, came downstairs for a midnight snack.

“What on Earth are you doing?”

Lord Powell’s voice startled John backwards and up, his head hitting the underside of the sink as he skittered and slid out from underneath, drain snake in hand. As he fell onto his backside, the long strip of wire flung the clump of debris to the opposite wall, where it stuck with a satisfying _slap_.

“Lord Powell. I didn’t see you there,” John said, scrambling to his feet.

“John Smith, isn’t it?” Lord Powell asked. John nodded. “As I said, what are you doing?”

“Erm, fixing the drain, my lord.”

“At twelve in the morning? Shouldn’t you be finished your duties and in bed?”

“Yes my lord, this is an… extra project.”

“I was unaware any of our staff would need to moonlight as plumbers when Raffalo from the village is always looking for work.”

John shifted uncomfortably under Lord Powell’s gaze. “I’ve been telling Mrs. Grant and and Mr. Mott and Mrs. Smith for months that we need a professional in to look at these pipes, my lord,” he explained. “But I either get brushed off or told we don’t have the budget. Meanwhile I’m getting called in here every other day because it’s backed up, when I have so many other things to do. I just figured I’d try to fix it properly while nobody’s using it.”

Lord Powell folded his arms and leaned back against the long wooden table. “What, exactly, is your position here at Bucknall House, John Smith?”

“I’m kind of a handyman for the whole estate. I help out wherever I’m needed.”

“How did that come to be?”

“I was working for the grocer and when I came here on delivery I fixed Miss Noble’s sewing machine. The groundskeeper heard how good I was at fixing things so he asked for my help, and then the horse master heard so I helped there, and Miss Noble kept bringing me things, so eventually Mr. Mott told me to stay. Apparently the House hasn’t had a dedicated maintenance man for some time now. I’m… filling a void, I suppose, my lord.”

“That’s true. Ever since Mr. Chesterton retired, things have fallen behind,” Lord Powell admitted. “But you’re doing this on your own time? On what kind of wage?”

John shrugged. “I enjoy fixing and building things. I needed a job and Mr. Williams only needed me occasionally.” He straightened up and looked Lord Powell in the eye. “I’m on my own. I don’t have much or need much, but here I’ve found the first real friends and real home I’ve had in a very long time. But to be frank, my lord, Bucknall is decaying rapidly in some parts. I can’t let my home fall apart. Not…” He faltered. “Not again. Keeping it together is my honour, Lord Powell.”

Lord Powell fixed John with a hard stare, but he could see sympathy behind it. He hoped it wasn’t pity. “John, I appreciate your devotion to my estate. It’s quite admirable and it’s very good to know this old house has someone to help hold her up. You’re dearly going above and beyond here and I only wish I had known sooner so you could be more adequately compensated.”

“I’m usually discouraged from doing this kind of extra work, my lord.”

“Of course you are,” Lord Powell sighed. “And unfortunately, Mr. Mott and Mrs. Smith are correct about the state of our accounts. They are not as… robust as they once were.”

“It might help if less money was spent on superficial fixes and parties,” John said, quickly adding, “my lord. I’m sorry. That was rude.”

“And yet the truth. Though it’s not every day day one’s daughter finishes school and comes of age,” Lord Powell replied.

“Lady Rose’s homecoming is but a small factor, my lord. More has probably been spent on quick patch-ups than it would have cost to fix things properly in the first place. And we spend so much on the smallest dinners that we’re now struggling to celebrate what’s really important.” John wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing, having this conversation with Lord Powell. Angling for a promotion? Saving his behind after being caught? Just being genuine? Lord Powell seemed to be taking to him well, though, and even smiled when John emphasized Lady Rose’s importance. He was starting to look for an exit, a way to wrap things up with Lord Powell so he could put the drain back together and flee.

Lord Powell was oblivious to this. “John, you’re making some good points, and I’d like to hear more. Can you cook?”

“What? Um, yes, somewhat. Enough to get by for myself.”

“I came down here hungry and all this discussion has made me starving. Let’s have a bite and keep talking.”

John gritted his teeth and smiled. It would be a long night.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Rose meet again. More parties are on the horizon. Rose makes some interesting observations.

John was finally able to get back to the sink around three in the morning, and collapsed into bed soon after. Lord Powell had been very interested in John’s assessments of the House, particularly the windows and the west tower. He hadn’t made any promises, but there was significant overlap between what the two men thought needed to be done, and Lord Powell made it clear that he would insist on certain repairs being prioritised. He also assured John that the senior staff would not hear about their meeting, nor would Mrs. Grant find out how good of a cook he was, lest John be saddled with even more work.

He was hardly able to get to the tower in the weeks after Lady Rose’s party, but he still saw the nameless woman from that night almost every day. Whether he was helping in the garden, moving furniture, or fixing up disused rooms, he seemed to be running into her constantly. They would exchange smiles and occasionally some pleasantries, but they were always pulled away by someone or something. For John it was usually work, for the woman it was one of her friends, some of which seemed to be making rather unsubtle attempts to win her affection.

They didn’t get to have another conversation until the end of the week. It was a brilliant day, and John was outside the garage working on a shiny red bicycle when she approached.

“Hello again,” she said, and John started.

“Good morning, miss,” he replied, tipping his hat. “What brings you out to the garage?”

“Just taking a walk. It’s a beautiful day, it would be a shame to waste it indoors.” She paused and John nodded, wiping at his cheek. “And what are you working on?”

“I was asked to see to Lady Rose’s bicycle. It’s been in storage since she went to school but she’d like to ride,” he explained, pulling at the spanner. “It was in rough shape but I should have it good as new before tea. We have extras, too, if she might want company.”

“An excellent idea,” she said. “If tomorrow is fair as well, I’d say a picnic by the creek would be in order.”

“Sounds lovely,” John said. He turned back to the bicycle, trying to distract himself from the image of himself and this young lady picnicking on the creekbank together that suddenly intruded on his mind. “I’ll make sure all the bicycles are in good shape for tomorrow, then.”

“That would be terrific! Thank you,” she said, her smile bright enough to blind him.

“It’s no trouble,” he said, still pretending to be engrossed in the bike.

She watched him for another moment before excusing herself. “I’ll, um, let you get back to work then. See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. See you tomorrow.” He glanced up to smile at her before she walked away.

Later he would realised he’d had a large smear of grease on his cheek the entire time and nearly die of embarrassment. Where was all this even coming from?

Still, he hardly had time to worry about it once he’d returned indoors, as he walked into the announcement of another party just as the staff were sitting for luncheon.

“Didn’t we just have one?” he muttered to Donna.

“It’s Lord and Lady Powell’s wedding anniversary,” she said, chiding him. “It’ll be an older crowd at least, a lot less shenanigans, I hope.” John had heard rumours about the antics of Lady Rose’s friends, perhaps feeling freer than at school even with the strictures of etiquette. “There’s talk that Lady Rose might receive a marriage proposal by then,” she continued. “Have you heard anything, Gwen?”

Gwen shook her head, barely looking up from her sewing. “She’s had a few suitors but doesn’t seem particularly enthusiastic about any of them. Her Ladyship seems to think announcing her daughter’s engagement at the anniversary party would be rather sweet, but Lady Rose isn’t keen on getting married. She’s more interested in learning the management of the estate.”

“Well, it’s not like there won’t be other anniversaries,” Donna said. “She’s always been a practical girl, anyway. Does she have any ideas for Bucknall?”

John wished Gwen had paid more attention to what Lady Rose had talked to her about in that regard. Lord Powell had implied that Lady Rose would be joining in on a lot of their work in the future, and from what he and Gwen said, she seemed to have some interesting ideas. She wanted to review how they harvested and sold grains, and she was pressing for more modern and efficient buildings to replace the ones in the village that had been destroyed in a fire last year. _And_ she was very excited about the restorations in the House, which made John preen a bit and Donna tease him for it. He had a feeling he would like working with her.

***

Lady Rose hadn’t been this fixated on one person in… well, ever; teenage crushes notwithstanding. But now there was this tall, thin, handyman with the greatest hair she’d ever seen, who’d grinned at her with a trail of grease on his face like she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He didn’t seem to realise who she was, and she’d not even asked his name! Seeing him just put her behind a blushing facade of coy bravado, that cultivated flirtatiousness she’d always used on the boys in her classes. Except this time she _meant it_ , wasn’t just playing along with some game. He was magnetic, pulling her into range of wherever he was, and if he hadn’t been so adorably clueless, Rose would have thought he was running into her on purpose. Not that she minded. She rather liked it.

Instead of running into the mystery man, though, she was stuck following Sir James Stone through dusty room after dusty room at Peckham Hall, trying to at least seem like she was listening to him. He’d pull back drapes and drop cloths to show her artwork and furniture, each piece more important and pretentious than the last. On the rare occasion Rose did find something interesting, James would be off to the next thing before she could really get a good look, dismissing it as “some old trinket of my mother’s.”

Rose remembered James’s mother. She was lovely, and apparently had good taste in art. Suddenly it became much more difficult not to scowl.

“How is your mother these days?” Rose asked.

“Oh, you know, blissfully ignorant with her parties and luncheons and charity work,” James said, literally waving off Rose’s question. “But she’s happy, and that’s the important part.”

“Indeed.” They examined yet another obnoxious painting before moving to another room. “Tell me more about your business, James. My father says your company makes health supplements.”

“No, not quite. _My_ company _invests_ in the companies that make health supplements, and other things too,” he said. “We provide capital to promising entrepreneurs who- I’m sorry, I should slow this down.” He sniffed and rubbed his nose.

He’d mistaken Rose’s look of skepticism for one of confusion, and while part of her wanted to confront him about it, she remembered what Mickey had said about the rumours surrounding James’s work and decided to play along. “Please do! You know, they hardly taught us anything about business at _all_ in school. Just household accounts, really.”

“Of course, that’s all young ladies should need to know,” James laughed. Rose fumed. “Anyway, as I was saying - we help people who want to start businesses by lending them the money to get going. As they make money, we make ours back, plus interest, and that’s our profit. If they’re very good, we’ll continue to own part of the company and make even more money. Make sense?”

“I suppose so,” Rose said, inwardly laughing at James’s tone. “What kind of businesses do you help?”

“Right now we’re focusing on health supplements, as you know. Tonics, vitamin drinks, that sort of thing.”

“And is it quite profitable?”

“Some of them are, some of them aren’t. It’s a risk, but we’re very hands-on. We do a lot of research and get right into the factories and the laboratories to see how everything is made.”

“How fascinating,” Rose said, putting on her best fake cheer. “Anything I might have heard of?”

James rattled off a few names, some that Rose knew and some she didn’t, and after that didn’t seem inclined to continue the conversation. She had the feeling there was more to his company’s ‘hands-on’ approach than he was saying, but she let it go, distracted by the way he kept tapping his fingers against the side of his leg.

“Ah, and here’s one of my finest colleagues,” James said, approaching a handsome, dark-skinned man as they returned to the foyer. “Lance Bennett, my personal assistant. Lance, this is Lady Rose Tyler.”

“Pleasure to meet you, my lady,” Lance said, shaking Rose’s hand. “Are you Lord Powell’s daughter?”

“Yes, I am. James, I thought you had Mitchell helping you?”

“Oh, that’s just at home. Mitchell’s not one to be trusted with our kind of business,” James said, both he and Lance clearly suppressing laughter. “Lance finds all our best talent, and all sorts of interesting ventures.”  
  


“How fascinating,” Rose lied. “James, thank you so much for the tour, but I must be getting back. Mum’s expecting me for luncheon.”

“Of course. Shall I have the car brought round?”

“No, thank you. It’s a lovely day and I’d rather like a walk after being inside all morning.” The last thing Rose wanted was spend any more time with James or anyone affiliated with him. She submitted to a farewell kiss on the cheek, noting that the strong odour she’d sensed over the past few hours was, indeed, James’s pungent cologne, and headed down the path towards town.

It was a rather long walk from Peckham Hall to Bucknall House, but the village lay between them and Rose very much wanted to stop in at Mickey’s offices and relay the details of her visit to him. Unfortunately he was out, so she browsed through a few shops and stopped at the bakery for a bit of cake and a rest. As she was leaving, Rose caught sight of a riot of brown hair standing above the rest of the passers-by. The handyman was striding purposefully down the street, away from the square and around a corner. Rose walked the same way to the end of the block, arriving at the kerb just in time to see him disappear into the Headless Monk pub. She frowned. _Not exactly the nicest of places_ , Rose thought, but that didn’t mean much. If the staff had poor taste in beer, well, that was their problem. With that, she headed for home.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for following along so far! I get so distracted by party chapters, I start looking at pretty dresses and all is lost. Rose is wearing this tonight: http://metmuseum.org/collection/the-collection-online/search/156019

Things were going swimmingly for John until Jack ate those oysters. 

The shellfish had been ordered in special for Lord and Lady Powell’s anniversary party, and Lord Powell’s valet, Ianto, had teased Jack about their purported aphrodisiacal properties. Jack, having never tried them before, slurped two down before realising he was breaking out in hives and having difficulty breathing. Mrs. Smith had to dose him with a large cup of her allergy remedy while Donna attempted to keep him calm and Rory ran to town to fetch Dr. Shaw. 

“We’ll need a new footman,” Mrs. Smith informed Mr. Mott after the doctor had left. “Dr. Shaw says Jack is to rest for at least a few days. We’re shorthanded tonight.”

Mr. Mott sighed. “I suppose we’ll have to put Rory on as first and call up one of the other boys to help. What about Clyde?”

“He’s constantly covered in paint.”

“Chip?”

“Is he off that acting kick? Last I heard he was impersonating Lady Cassandra O’Bryan to great effect.”

“Eerm, he hasn’t. Best not then. Adric?”

“Too clever for his own good.”

“Tommy?” 

“Far too young.”

Mr. Mott huffed. “Who else is there?”

Donna took this moment to stop eavesdropping and pretend she’d happened to be walking by. Poking her head in the door of Mr. Mott’s office, she said, “Sorry to interrupt, but I couldn’t help overhearing. Might I make a suggestion?”

And so that afternoon John found himself being shoved in a footman’s livery and poked with pins while Donna made some alterations. He tugged at the tall, starched collar and grimaced at his reflection in the full-length mirror. 

“Why the hell did you put me up to this?” he grumbled.

“Because I happen to think you could do a good job of it,” she said, finishing up the hems on his trousers. “Put these on. And stop fidgeting or I’ll have to starch that collar again. You’re friendly and likeable, and you love observing people. Wouldn’t it be nice to get out of those dusty rooms for a while?”

“I happen to _like_ those dusty rooms,” John sniffed, buttoning the trousers.

“You’d be helping people,” Donna tried.

“No, I’d be _waiting_ on them. I think making sure this place doesn’t fall down is much more helpful than dishing up caviar.”

Donna sighed as she helped him put on the waistcoat. “You’d be helping Mr. Mott and Rory. And you’ll be able to do much more if you keep Mr. Mott happy by doing this.” She got the jacket on him and brushed down the shoulders. “Look, it’s not permanent. But I think you might enjoy it, so please try? Do your best and come back with lots of stories?”

John really couldn’t deny Donna anything, and he had to admit to some curiosity about what dinners were like upstairs. “Okay. I’ll put a real effort in. But just for you and Mr. Mott, got it?”

Donna grinned. Excellent. Now we’ll have to do something about your hair…”

John blanched and clutched at the mess on his head, and Donna fell into giggles.

***  
Entertaining her own friends was easy. Her parents’ friends, that required every bit of Rose’s charm, poise, manners, and fake enthusiasm. A few had been around for her birthday but tonight would be the onslaught of every possible version of the same questions - how does it feel to have finished college, what did you study, met any nice young men, any proposals on the horizon, your brother’s growing up so fast isn’t he, have you met my son? Rose was a grown lady now, and expected to be every bit the hostess her mother was, and more so on this occasion. 

There was no way Rose could forget this, as Lady Powell stood over her while Gwen styled her hair. 

“...and the Lethbridge-Stewarts will be here, remember the Brigadier was your father’s superior when he served.”

“Isn’t their daughter Kate working for the government now? Some scientific research?” Rose asked.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Lady Powell said, waving a hand. “Probably something terribly boring. She has a cousin your age you ought to ask about. Oh Rose, are you sure about that hair clip?”

Rose suppressed a sigh. “Yes, Mum. You liked it yesterday.” 

“But now, I don’t know, isn’t it a bit much?”

“Nope,” Rose said, adjusting it slightly. She caught her mother’s reflection in the mirror and turned around on her chair, taking Lady Powell’s hands. “Mum. I know you’re excited for me to settle down, but let’s focus on you and Dad tonight, okay? It’s your party, you deserve to have some fun for a night without worrying about whether or not I’ll meet my future husband.”

Lady Powell smiled softly and squeezed her daughter’s fingers. “You know I’ll always worry about you being happy, Rose.”

“Tonight I’ll be happy as long as you and Dad are,” Rose assured her. She let her mother press a kiss to her forehead and take her makeup brush from the vanity. 

“We’re happy if you’re happy, sweetheart.” Rose closed her eyes and felt the soft bristles glide over her cheeks, then the careful swipes of lipstick over her mouth. “You never did say much about your visit to Peckham Hall.”

If there was one subject that would _not_ ensure Rose’s happiness, it was Sir James Stone. She knew he was what Lady Powell meant, not the house. “Sir James seems in many ways to be a very different person than when we were children, yet in others he hasn’t changed at all,” Rose said. “And neither set of characteristics much endears him to me.” 

Rose could tell her mother was frowning, even with her eyes closed. Lady Powell didn’t like it when Rose started speaking like an old novel, especially once she’d figured it out it was how her daughter liked to express her disdain. “He’s incredibly successful, Rose.”

“I’m not sure I like how he’s achieved his success.” Rose opened her eyes and they stared each other down for a moment. 

“I think it’s time we went down,” Lady Powell said, ending the conversation and heading out of Rose’s bedroom. 

Rose picked up a necklace from her vanity and draped it over her head, and thanked Gwen. They exchanged pointed glances, knowing that after the party they’d have a lot to talk about.

 

***

With hardly any time for training, John was kept away from the more formal and important tasks, like serving the private family dinner that was held before the house opened up for the real party. Instead he ran about helping with decorations and setting up the band, much like he might during any other party, and then once the rest of the guests arrived he passed trays of canapés and wine. Most of the main floor rooms were open and he imitated Rory’s easy glide through the crowds from the conservatory at one end, to the billiards room at the other, out to the terrace and back in again. The men all wore white tie and the women elegant, colourful gowns. Glasses tinkled under the music and several partners danced along under the great hall’s chandeliers. 

John was fascinated. He’d never seen one of these parties from the middle of it, just the edges. The crowd was older than at Lady Rose’s birthday but he couldn’t help but remember watching everyone from the tower that night. With his tray once again empty, he made his way back to the kitchen, where Mrs. Grant was overseeing Amelia and the other kitchen maids, putting together platters of canapes.. 

“Having fun?” Donna asked him.

“It’d be nice not to be stepped on,” he mused. “But it’s interesting, getting to see all these people I’ve only just heard about before. And do they really all believe that we’re just in the background and not paying attention? The things I’ve heard-”

“It’ll wear off eventually, mate,” said Rory, joining them to refill his own tray. “By the end of the night you’ll just want everyone to go home so you can get back to normal.” 

“Enjoy the excitement while it lasts,” Amelia said with a wink, passing John a batch of salmon pinwheels. 

Rory ended up being more right than wrong. As the evening wore on, John found himself fading a little, though he was still not hating it. The sun had gone down and there were fairy lights on the terrace where he was offering champagne. Maybe they, along with his buzzing mind, made seeing his blonde mystery girl seem so magical.

He’d turned to another cluster of people when her smile lit up the corner of his eye. She was by the stairs, talking to a white-haired man in a military uniform, and a woman in her forties. John barely registered them. She was laughing, she was wearing pink again, though her dress was softer and less flashy than at the last party, her hairpiece looked like feathers made of diamonds, her jewelry caught the fairy lights when she moved, she was listening so intently, that was red lipstick against her wine glass… John caught himself before it seemed like he was staring and kept working, thinking about whether he could subtly move in her direction. But then she caught his eye as something caused a break in her conversation, and smiled at him so widely, John thought he might melt. He smiled and nodded towards her, but carried on.

Not two minutes later their gazes met again. This time she raised an eyebrow and tipped her empty glass at him, smirking a little. John lit up and deftly made his way over.

“May I offer you some champagne?” he said, for about the hundredth time that night, but for her it could have been the first. Her companions accepted or declined as they wished, and as she took a glass, her eyes never left his. 

“Thank you,” she said, placing her empty glass on his tray. “Might you take this as well?” She proffered him a rumpled cocktail napkin.

“Of course,” he said, taking it from her. Their fingers brushed and he hoped the jolt he felt didn’t show. WIth a slight nod, he turned away. Adjusting his hands he felt the napkin crinkle oddly. John ducked into an alcove just inside the kitchen doors. 

Inside the napkin was a neatly folded, slightly wrinkled note. _When did she manage to write this?_ John wondered. In neat cursive, a time and a location: eleven thirty, by the rose bush under the west tower. 

Now John really couldn’t wait for the party to end.

***  
The evening was nearly dull in its flawlessness. Rose fielded the usual questions with aplomb, avoided setting meetings with half the sons of the guests (though her mother made up for those). She did end up talking to Kate Lethbridge-Stewart about her cousin, but only about his rather fascinating research into new farm equipment and the possibility of bringing some prototypes over to Bucknall. It was one of the few bright spots, particularly because a certain maintenance man appeared to be moonlighting as a footman. She did get to spend time with a few of her friends, but Martha proved rather difficult to pin down, as she had started her apprenticeship with Dr. Shaw just the week before and the older woman was introducing her new protege to everyone. 

“Martha’s doing well,” Rose remarked.

“She is. Dr. Shaw told me she’s quite impressed,” Mickey said, eyes landing on where Dr. Shaw and Martha were. 

“Seems like someone else is impressed too.” Mickey did a double take as Rose nudged him with her elbow and giggled. “Don’t hide it! You know I can tell when you like someone. Ask her to the flower show.”

“Seriously? The flower show?”

“She likes flowers, and it’s a community event. She’ll want to meet her potential patients outside of the clinic,” Rose said. “And she’ll want to spend time with you outside this house.” Mickey looked stunned again, and Rose smirked before walking away. It was getting late, and she had an appointment to keep.

***

It was as if she had known that most of the guests would have left just after eleven. Only a few remained, congregating in the drawing room for “one last drink!” and some increasingly rowdy card games. With his appointment growing nearer, John took a torch and volunteered to do a sweep of the gardens for any wayward dishes, furniture, or people. 

She was waiting for him, and he checked his watch. “You’re early.”

“Couldn’t wait,” she blurted out. “And I needed to get away for a bit anyway.”

“I see.” They stood there smiling at each other like children, until they both laughed. “So you wanted to see me?”

“I did. And then there you were! I didn’t think maintenence men got to serve at parties.”

“Ah, yes. Bit of a field promotion, turns out our footman Jack is allergic to oysters.”

“Oh no! Is he all right?”

“Yeah, Dr. Shaw says he’ll be fine.”

“Glad to hear it.” They got quiet again and John tried not to stare, but he couldn’t help it. Closer to her, he could see the swirling beading on her dress, cascading into the fluttering hem, the pink more of a peach in the torchlight. “I don’t actually know what to say. I just wanted to see you and now I’ve got you and oh God, this is ridiculous.” She covered her face with one hand, probably hoping he couldn’t see her blushing, but he could. It made his stomach leap and the grin on his face look even more ridiculous. 

“That’s okay,” John said, chuckling quietly. “We could start with some proper introductions, perhaps? Haven’t gotten to those in the past month.”

“I suppose we could.” And oh, there was that tongue in her teeth again. 

“Excellent. My name is John Smith. A pleasure to meet you.” He took her hand and bent low over it, kissing her knuckles. 

She giggled and didn’t let go as she started to speak. “The pleasure is mine, John. I’m-”

“ROSE!” The voice of a rather intoxicated Lady Jacqueline Tyler came down from the terrace. “Rose, are you out here?”

“Shit.”

“What?”

“My mother. I have to go.”

“Wait, what? _You’re_ Rose? As in _Lady_ Rose?”

“Yes.” She made to leave but John held tight to her hand. 

“You’re Lady Rose Tyler.”

“Hello.” She wiggled the fingers of her free hand in a wave.

“I am so sorry, I’ve been so familiar with you all this time and-”

“ROSE! Rose, where are you?”

“Coming, Mother!” Rose shouted up. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll talk properly later. See you.”

“But-” Somehow her hand slipped out of his and Lady Rose rounded the corner to the stairs. He could hear her voice, presumably making her excuses to her mother, as his arm dangled uselessly where she’d left it and eventually fell to his side. His mystery woman, his visitor in the tower, was his employer’s daughter. And she’d said she’d see him _again_. She _wanted_ to see him again. A lot of thoughts were going through John’s head, but as he composed himself and made his own way back inside, it was the promise of really talking to Lady Rose Tyler that stuck.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Many meetings are had. Plans are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Howdy folks, just wanted to give you a heads up that going forward I have no idea if I'll be able to stick to a regular update schedule. I'm going to work on a sheep farm, starting tomorrow, and as it's lambing season it'll be busy and a lot of hard work. I don't have much of a backlog of chapters left, but I do have 85-90% of the story outlined, so it's just a matter of bringing those notes to life and stitching together the scenes that I do have written. I'll do my best, and keep you posted (and also share pictures of the babies!).

John and Lady Rose did speak to each other again, sooner than he thought. To his surprise, he’d been invited to the household staff meeting the week following the Earl and Countess’s anniversary ball. Mr. Mott acted as if he were put out by this, but John could tell the butler was secretly pleased at his advancement in the house. It was far less surprising that Lady Rose was also in attendance, seated at her father’s right hand and trying not to fidget, or smile too widely at John when she entered the dining room. She was an eager participant in the proceedings, asking many questions of the various departments represented at the table. So it was that her next conversation with John was of a purely professional nature.

“I must say John, I’m quite impressed with your recent improvements to the house.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

She turned a few pages. “And well under budget. How is it you’re able to keep costs so low?”

John barely resisted a tug on his ear. “I have a good relationship with many of the business people in the village, so they’re willing to give me good prices,” he said, as close to the truth about his parts and materials as he was willing to get. “As for labour, so far most of the projects have been relatively simple and I’ve hired young folks from the village who are eager to learn. Some are quite keen and I’ve been able to move them up to more complicated tasks, and they’ll all get good references and experience as well as their wages.”

Lady Rose smiled and wrote something down. “Which businesses have you been working with?” 

Now John had his earlobe in his fingers before he could think about it. “Raffalo for the plumbing,” he said, which was true - after the kitchen drain he wasn’t going to go to Dorium for that - “The Williamses for electrical, especially the new installations, and Jabe Cheem for lumber.” Those were also true, though he hadn’t used either of them extensively. “Most of the aesthetic choices have been under the direction of her Ladyship the Countess.” Also true - Lady Powell had been active in choosing carpets, flooring, wallpapers and more, and it had been the most expensive portion of his budgets. 

Nodding, Lady Rose thanked John, but she didn’t seem entirely satisfied. The discussion moved on to other things and John found himself with a number of additions to his project list and another note from Lady Rose slipped to him covertly. 

_West Tower, after dinner._

He had to hold back his ridiculous grin, waiting until the meeting had adjourned and he had started to head into town to show his glee. The note would fuel the unpleasant errand he found himself on. Work was continuing apace, which, unfortunately, meant visiting Dorium more frequently. 

“What the hell is this?” John said, pulling a leather satchel out of the crate of goods he was picking up. He loosened the drawstring and peered in as Dorium replied.

“There was a request from one of the guests at the house,” he said. John closed the bag and tossed it back in the crate with disgust. “I didn’t think you’d mind seeing that it gets delivered, since you’re going that way and all.”

John rolled his eyes. “I’m not working for you again, Dorium.”

“Of course not! This is just a favour, I’m not paying you,” Dorium chuckled. “See that Sir James Stone gets it, I believe his valet’s name is Mitchell. He’s expecting you.”

“Generally one _asks_ for favours,” John grumbled, jerking the crate off the bar.

“Then let me _ask_ you to come by the club soon. All the ladies miss you,” he said. “Some of the men, too.”

John rolled his eyes and left the bar. Back at Bucknall House, he found Sir James’s valet in the shoe room and tossed the satchel onto the table in front of him, not wanting to engage any further with whatever illicit substance the man was into. John was vaguely aware that Sir James was a cousin to the prince, somewhat far down the line of succession, and knew the Tylers through some quirk of geography, thus explaining his frequent presence at the House. All this was according to the more chatty of the staff, who insisted on telling everything regardless of John’s lack of interest. He heard the valet acknowledge his delivery but continued to the back staircase and up to work.

***

If Rose was puzzled at the length of Sir James’s visit before, now she was completely perplexed. He wasn’t staying at the House anymore, but was a frequent guest at their dinner table and often stayed overnight afterwards. He was doing it again today - he’d brought along his valet, Mitchell, who Gwen said was terribly insufferable, always looking for ways to insinuate himself in his employer’s favour but usually failing and then complaining endlessly to the rest of the staff. 

Her parents didn’t seem to think much of it, just another neighbour ‘round for dinner, promising to have them over to Peckham Hall once he had the place running. Rose silently wished for that to take as long as possible. Sir James had brought along his assistant Lance, and they were talking business and investments with her father. 

“I hope you haven’t made any decisions on that, Peter.” Rose’s ears perked up at her mother’s voice. 

Lord Powell looked uncomfortable for a moment. “Well, Jacqueline, I’ve actually made a modest contribution to Sir James’s fund.”

“What?” Rose and her mother exclaimed in unison. 

“Not that much, sweetheart,” he said, aiming this at his wife. Rose’s eyes darted between her parents and their guests, noting the usual glare from her mother and placating look from her father. Sir James and Lance were quietly ignoring the domestics, calmly eating, though Sir James was doing that tapping thing again. If her parents hadn’t been arguing, it would have been jarring; instead it was curious. Finally she snapped. 

“Mum, Dad, please,” she interrupted. “Let’s discuss this later as a family, okay?”

Lord and Lady Powell quieted and Rose attempted to change the subject, but it was for naught. The rest of the meal passed in awkward silence. 

***

John was in the tower well before dinner finished. It wasn’t like he had anywhere else to be, and he was almost done with most of the room anyway. One more wall needed a second coat of paint, and he was just putting away the brushes when Lady Rose ascended the stairs. 

She was still dressed for dinner, in a cheerful yellow beaded dress. “Oh wow, this looks wonderful.”

Now that they were alone, both of them grinned widely. “Thank you, my lady. It’s structurally sound now, so it’s a blank canvas as far as decorating goes. Careful, paint’s still wet over there.” He started towards Lady Rose, going to guide her away from the freshly painted wall, then stopping when he remembered his hands were covered in paint as well. 

“Please, just Rose,” she said, backing up and moving to the window. “Is this part dry?”

“Yeah. Yeah, go ahead.” John watched as she sat on the window seat, just a board right now, and gave him a smirk. “Why didn’t you tell me who you were?”

“Why didn’t _you_?” she shot back, laughing. 

“Fair enough, but most nobility like to make sure everyone _knows_ who they are,” he said. “Your mother certainly did when I got hired. Came right downstairs on my first day just to tell me all about it.”

Rose giggled. “Sounds like her. I don’t know, I guess I just don’t think it’s all that important. Puts up too many barriers, makes it hard to relate to people as people instead of as staff.”

“But I _am_ staff,” John said. “Rather exceptional staff, but nonetheless.”

“Would you like me to start demanding you face the wall when we pass in the corridors?” 

“No, but-”

“Look- John, please come sit down, I feel strange trying to talk to people when they’re pacing about.”

John hadn’t noticed his own movements, but stopped them to uselessly brush his hands on his trousers and settle on the opposite end of the window seat. “Sorry.”

Rose smiled and straightened up. “Things are changing, John, I don’t know if you’ve noticed. It’s harder to keep these big estates running than it used to be, especially with so many people moving to cities. My father’s been making a lot of… interesting investments recently, trying to make sure we have enough funds to keep things going and save for the future. I knew this as a teenager, that’s why I went to college - to study business and make connections that might be helpful. And not just to the House, but to everyone who lives on these estate and in town. We can’t just be aristocrats in a mansion ordering folks about, we need to channel the resources we’re lucky enough to have into collaborating with our neighbours and hiring good people to make a prosperous community. Strict hierarchy isn’t going to facilitate that.”

John raised an eyebrow. “Have you been practicing that speech or are you naturally that eloquent?”

“That was my first time giving it a go out loud. Did it sound okay?” she asked eagerly, breaking the formal posture.

“Not bad, not bad.” Her eyes were sparkling, and that smile was infectious. “I believe you. But I am I your audience?”

Rose sighed a little and leaned against the window frame. “Sort of. But mostly it’ll be investors, potential tenants… and my parents, ultimately.” She caught John’s gaze with a flash of determination. “I love this place - the House, the town - with all my heart. But I know there’s more out there. I know there’s so much to see and learn that can only make home a better place. I want - I _need_ to work with people who care, who can see the place of the details in the big picture.” Rose reached out and took John’s hand in both of hers, ignoring the paint flaking off his skin. “From what I’ve seen and heard of you, I think you’re one of those people.”

“I’d like to be. I try to be,” he said, stilling her movements with his other hand. John looked at their joined hands and wondered at how different it felt, compared to when he held hers last week. Her delicate, manicured fingers surrounded his long and rough ones, thumbs absently stroking back and forth over his knuckles. 

Rose ducked her head to catch his eye. “What are you thinking?”

What was he thinking? He certainly wasn’t going to blurt out that he was thinking about how brilliant and clever and gorgeous and thoughtful she was, no matter how much his brain was itching to do so. 

“Just that… that I think we’re going to make a good team. Working on the House, and everything,” he finally answered, as insufficient as the words were. 

She smiled. “Me too. I’ve got lots of ideas, as you know. I think I just need some help fleshing them out.”

“Tell me,” John said. “We’ll work on them together.”

They spent hours up in the Tower that night, brainstorming, sketching, teasing, and laughing. Both were stunned by their easy rapport, once John had gotten over the nobility barrier. Together they drew up plans for at least five rooms, including the one they were in, and John had given Rose some feedback on building materials and companies she was considering for other projects. 

“How did you learn all this?” Rose asked. 

John shrugged. “Here and there. Worked some construction as a teenager, that kind of stuff.” He was sprawled on the floor on his stomach, doodling aimlessly on their notes. “Look at you, sitting on the floor in that nice dress. Where’d you learn _that_?”

“College,” Rose laughed. “The more rigorous the institution, the more relaxed free time is.” She fiddled with her hemline, tracing her fingers over the beads. “It’ll be fine. These things are tougher than they look. But I should probably head to bed, I’m sure Gwen’s waiting for me.”

John jumped to his feet and held out his hands, tugging Rose up to stand. “Thank you. This was… this was great.”

“Yeah. Thank you for coming.”

“Wouldn’t have missed it.” They fidgeted with each others’ hands, smiling shyly at each other, not sure how to part. 

“All right,” Rose finally said. “Good night John.” She popped up on her toes and kissed his cheek, and headed for the stairs quickly.

“Good night, Rose,” John murmured as she disappeared down the stairs, grazing his fingers over where her lips had touched his skin, sure he looked like a fool.

***

“I’m so sorry to keep you up, Gwen,” Rose said, hurrying into her bedroom. 

“It’s okay, my lady, I had plenty to keep myself busy,” Gwen said, taking Rose’s jewelry from her as Rose took it off. “I assume you did as well?”

“Oh yes. Lots of planning for the house and such.” She changed for bed quietly, mind still buzzing. 

“May I ask you something, my lady?” Gwen asked as she brushed Rose’s hair.

“Please, call me Rose. And of course.”

“There was a Lance Bennett at dinner tonight, was there not?”

“Yes,” Rose said carefully. “Why do you ask?”

“Evidently he grew up in the same town as Miss Noble. Her mother’s been writing to her about him, hoping they’ll meet up again.”

“How interesting,” Rose said. “Have they made plans?”

“Miss Noble just learned he was in the area,” Gwen told her. “She’s not… terribly enthusiastic about it, she and Mr. Bennett were never close. But her mother seems keen and says he’d like to see her.”

“I have no idea what _that’s_ like.” Gwen and Rose laughed at her sarcasm. 

“I suppose I was hoping you could tell me a bit about him, so I can let Miss Noble know what he’s like now,” Gwen said, twisting the last bits of Rose’s hair into a braid and tying it off. 

Rose frowned as she contemplated this, carefully wiping off the last bits of her makeup. “I can’t say I’ve interacted much with him,” she said. “He seems friendly, but only professionally so, and incredibly invested in Sir James and his business. That alone would concern me. Actually, now that I think of it…” She turned around to face Gwen properly. “Perhaps Miss Noble meeting with Mr. Bennett would be a good thing. Because I can’t get a read on him and I’m not entirely convinced of the merits of Sir James’s business. He may reveal more of himself to her, someone he knows. Do you think she might report back on him for me?”

“She might. I’ll ask her. At the very least, for her part meeting with him would get her mother off her back for a while,” Gwen said. 

“Thank you, Gwen. And thank Miss Noble for me in advance, let her know she can talk to me any time about this.” Rose stood, slipping off her dressing gown. She and Gwen bade each other good night, and Rose climbed into bed with a swirl of plans, thoughts and emotions flowing and settling in her mind.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Work and life go on. John gets uncomfortable. Rose gets introspective.

After looking over their list, John and Lady Rose went methodically through each room in the house and made more decisions, wrote down more ideas, and worked out priorities. There were minor repairs and upgrades in the family’s bedrooms to be done alongside more major work in some of the public rooms on the main floor, before moving on to guest bedrooms and other spaces. John kept the West Tower as his own personal project, planning to surprise Lady Rose by not just fixing and painting, but completely redecorating it. He could tell how much it meant to her, and by paying close attention to her suggestions for the rest of the house, got a sense of what her tastes were for decoration and furnishings. 

One of the first projects was restoring the Oak Room, a small reading room off the library that was walled in its namesake wood, with recessed shelves and smooth panels that alternated with elaborate carvings. It was not much used, but housed some of the Tyler’s most precious books and artifacts, which Lord Powell often showed to special guests, and John felt they deserved a prouder home. He’d had to go to Dorium for a special polish and an assortment of soft cloths and brushes, and he set the butcher’s boy, Milo, to thoroughly cleaning out every curve and line of the baseboards, while John took every item off the shelves and carefully boxed them up for safekeeping. He stowed the boxes under the massive table in the middle of the room and covered it with a sheet, then opened the windows and left Milo to his work, nearly running into Lord Powell on his way out. 

“Apologies, John! I didn’t see you there.”

“Sorry your Lordship, I didn’t see you either,” John said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve just got Milo cleaning the wood in the Oak Room, he shouldn’t be a bother to you.”

“Of course not. Young Milo will do a good job, you think? Those carvings are over two hundred years old,” Lord Powell said. 

“I think so. He’s got gentle hands, and incredible patience,” John replied. 

“Splendid. I’m glad I found you, John, come sit and we’ll discuss your plans.” Lord Powell led the way to the settees by the fireplace and gestured for John to sit while offering him a drink, which he awkwardly accepted. Though he’d officially delegated oversight of the restorations to his daughter, Lord Powell met with John frequently to talk about them. Usually, though, he just found John wherever he was working and chatted with him there, keen to see the work for himself and meet the youth from the village that came in. Actually sitting down to talk was odd, and John felt rather out of place in his rough pinstriped work trousers on the finely upholstered couch, worrying the crystal tumbler between his hands. Lord Powell had a generous pour and the whiskey was far better than anything John had tasted before, even at the fine clubs in the Capital. They spoke for well over an hour, pulling out plans and maps, John making notes, until Mr. Mott entered the library. 

“My lord, your daughter is expecting you in the study presently,” he announced. 

Lord Powell glanced at the clock on the mantle and shot up. John stood more slowly. “I’m dreadfully sorry, John, it seems we’ve lost track of time. I promised Rose we’d review the leases this afternoon, she’s quite eager to learn the ins and outs of the estate now that she’s of age.” He shook John’s hand vigorously after they’d tidied up their papers. “We’ll resume this soon.”

“Of course, my lord. Thank you for the productive discussion,” John said, inwardly fretting about the budget as they parted ways. Lord Powell’s ideas were more ambitious and far-reaching than what John and Lady Rose had been planning, and from the numbers he’d seen, he knew there was no way all of it could be accomplished in the time frame Lord Powell was thinking of. He’d have to speak with Rose about it again, see if they could revise things enough to please her father while staying under budget.

***

After meeting with her father, Lady Rose was dragged into the parlour by her mother, sat down with some needlework and her mother’s diary, and interrogated about her schedule.

“Now, you know I’m on the judging panel for the flower show this weekend,” Lady Powell said. “Watch your stitches there, they could be smaller. Unfortunately Mrs. Selby is ill and won’t be able to participate, so the committee needs another judge and I said you’d be able to do it.”

“Mum! You volunteered me without asking?” Rose exclaimed.

“What, are you busy?” Rose shook her head slowly and Lady Powell continued. “Then what’s the problem? Too good for the flower show now?”

“No, I’ll do it, I’d have liked for you to ask first, that’s all,” Rose said quietly, picking out her stitches. “You know I like the flower show.”

“Well that’s a good. Anyway, weekend after next is the last day of school before summer break and the head teacher would like someone to come present the prizes-”

“You didn’t sign me up for that too, did you?”

“Watch your tongue, Rose Marion. I did not. The flower show was short notice. Would you like to present the prizes at the school?”

“I would love to,” Rose said, gritting her teeth. She would, but her mother was wearing on her. And needlepoint, seriously? Was her mother trying to stealthily get her to work on a trousseau or something? At least this was just a handkerchief. She ran her thumb over a tiny embroidered leaf as her mother resumed talking. 

“Good. Now, I want to hear more about all this work on the House. John’s in and out of almost every room, he’s got all these boys from the village following him around - how long is this going to take?”

“It’s ongoing, Mum. Some parts of the House are in pretty bad shape. But you’ve been wanting to redecorate forever, we’ll be able to get to some of those things after the structural things get fixed.”

“Well I hope that’s soon,” Lady Powell sniffed. “Make sure this room is on the list, nothing’s changed in it for five years. And I’ve always hated these chairs…”

Eventually Rose had to put aside her embroidery to start writing down some of the things her mother was talking about. Lady Powell had a lot of requests and thoughts, few of which were practical, though Rose had to admit some of them would go a long way towards making certain parts of the house more warm and welcoming - there were many rooms that hadn’t been updated since her grandfather was young, and they veered between intimidatingly austere and chokingly claustrophobic, so the family avoided using them even though they were otherwise nice spaces with great views of the garden and the woods. Even the dining room needed some work, as it had been made passable since Lord Powell inherited his title with a change in furniture, but still had ugly wallpaper and drapes. Rose emphasised to her mother that she’d have to go over things with her father and John, to make sure they were doable and within budget, but Lady Powell didn’t seem to hear that part. She kept on until the telephone rang with someone wanting to speak to her, and Rose was able to hurry off and be somewhere else when her mother got back.

***

If Donna had jammed her hat onto the hook in the hall with any more force, she’d have put a hole in it. As it was, she saved some of her frustrated attention for her coat, hanging it up just as violently before stomping into the servants’ hall and collapsing into a chair. 

John, Mrs. Smith, Gwen, and Jack exchanged glances, none of them wanting to speak first. Jack finally went for it. 

“How was your date?”

Donna shot a withering glare at the footman and the others recoiled in sympathy. Jack started sputtering an apology, but Donna cut him off with a grin and a laugh. 

“Oh, you should’ve seen your face! Hah!” She slapped the table and shook her head. “It wasn’t a date, Jack, but it was lovely nonetheless. Lance bought me coffee and we caught up; he’s been back home more recently than I have. He even apologised for my mum trying to set us up.”

“He works for Sir James, doesn’t he?” Gwen asked.

“Yes, overseeing a division of their company that does locksmithing, mostly. H.C. Clements, it’s called.”

John frowned, looking up from his papers. He was working out what supplies he’d need to order next and whether he had the budget to avoid going to Dorium. “I thought Sir James worked in finance and investments.”

“He does, but he owns a lot of other businesses as well. Lance helps him manage it all, but apparently this one is growing a lot,” Donna said, helping herself to the tea on the table. “Anyway, he was perfectly nice, and we’re going to meet again on my day off next week.” 

Gwen and Mrs. Smith peppered Donna with more questions, but John went back to his calculations. Lord Powell’s restoration budget was not large, and he was having to re-revise now that Lady Rose had given him a list from her mother. He’d wanted to discuss it further but she was in town at the flower show with her family. She’d come down to the servants’ hall, her flowered summer day dress fluttering around her legs, hair tucked neatly under a straw-yellow hat, and John had almost forgotten to stand up when she entered the room. He wanted to run with her to the nearest room and talk about the list, and books, and science, and history, and all the other topics they’d get distracted by when working together. But she had to go, and John settled back down to work on the numbers. 

Donna snapped him back to the present by mentioning the flower show, and that the ladies would be back for tea soon. He’d left a few things out in the West Tower that he needed to put away, otherwise they’d ruin the surprise for Rose. John quickly gathered his papers and hurried off, only stopped by Donna’s voice.

“Oi, Spaceman! Where are you off in such a hurry?”

“Erm, just realised I need to check on one of the boys. Yeah. You know, make sure they’re on track, all that.” 

Donna wasn’t fooled but let him scurry off anyway. The others might not have noticed the timing of his departure, or found it odd, but she knew better. He was hiding something.

***

Rose hadn’t been lying when she said she liked the flower show, she actually did - she enjoyed nature, and gardening, even won a few junior prizes at this very show when she was a girl. It all felt different now, with the people from the village speaking to her as an adult instead of doting on her; when she realised she could easily look many of the taller men in the eyes after so many years craning her neck up at them, a funny sense of melancholy passed through her. Parties were one thing, but here in the village, Rose realised she was soon going to be responsible for many parts of these people’s lives, and the weight suddenly descended on her shoulders. 

She scanned the room for Martha and Mickey, hoping to take a moment to talk to them, but they were deep in conversation with the grocer, Mr. Williams. Keisha and Shareen were giggling over something in a corner, smirking into their lemonades. Their heady college days had begun to seem miles away after just a few weeks, with Bucknall’s formerly inseparable trio becoming a duo as Rose took on more duties at home, work that her friends would likely never face, being younger daughters in less prestigious families. At her parents’ anniversary party, they’d plied Rose with more alcohol than she would have liked, complaining that they never saw her anymore and telling her to loosen up. She’d managed to avoid any potential embarrassments, but Shareen and Keisha didn’t seem to understand the position she was in now, or if they did, they resented her for it. They wanted her to come into the City with them, see the new bands at fashionable clubs, go to every single party they could find, but that wasn’t something Rose could do now, not that she was even interested in it that much any more. She’d discovered a whole new realm of possibilities, of work to do and people to meet, that was so much more fascinating than she’d imagined. 

Even judging the flower show surprised her, and she put aside her anxieties for a moment so her mother could guide the judging committee to the next set of entries. They’d just come from the rose section, where she endured the usual remarks about her name, and arrived at a display of assorted arrangements, a riot of colours as the ‘anything goes’ category lived up to its name. All the entries were a mix of flowers, in different colour schemes, with fanciful titles written on the entry cards. Lady Powell and the other judges fawned over the elaborate arrangements, but a smaller one caught Rose’s eye. On a lower tier, nearly dwarfed by its neighbours, was a stout little vase of sunny daffodils and pink stargazer lilies with a card that read “Not Your Lady.” Though she pointed out the simple, elegant entry, the other judges didn’t take notice and Rose was the only one to vote for it. No matter - she was certain she recognised the handwriting, and when nobody claimed the bouquet at the end of the afternoon, she brought it home to adorn her dressing table.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Powell and Lady Rose make John an offer he can't refuse... but John's going to need to make some concessions in order to take it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the last chapter, John gave Rose daffodils and pink stargazer lilies. Daffodils are for new beginnings, pink stargazers are for wealth and prosperity - so he would have been saying that he's hoping this journey they're embarking on, whatever it is, will go well for them. Rose would totally know this.

John was ninety-nine percent sure someone was messing with him. Someone was displeased with the amount of time he was spending up in the West Tower, though why he couldn’t fathom, it wasn’t like he was neglecting the rest of his work. How else was he to explain the attempted removal of the same section of baseboard five times in two weeks?

Of course, John couldn’t say anything about it, so he decided to change up his usual work routine, focus on something else and see if he ran into the villain. So he spent more time in the garage, and the kitchen, and the library, skipping over his usual Tuesday work in the tower, only returning on Thursday. 

He took his time going up the stairs, almost daring someone to be up there. His patience was rewarded - that was definitely banging coming from above him. And scuffling. And some frustrated grunts that… sounded rather feminine? John scampered up the last few steps and startled both the interloper and himself. 

“Lady Rose?”

“John!” She jumped, dropping the chisel she’d been wielding. 

“It’s been you? Mucking about in here? I thought...” He was too incredulous to be angry, and hoped she could tell.

“I’m so sorry, I know you’ve been putting so much time into this place and I feel really bad about it, but…”

“But?” John left the stairs and approached Rose slowly.

“It’ll sound really weird, but there’s something very important to me behind that baseboard and I’d like to get it out,” she said. “But you’ve done an incredibly good job installing it, I must say.”

John grinned and knelt down, retrieving the chisel. “Thank you, my lady.”

“Please, I’ve told you not to call me that.” She crouched next to him. “Can you get it out?”

“Of course,” John said, setting to work. “You could have just asked me, you know.”

“Kind of ruins the whole ‘secret’ part of the secret hiding place.”

“I found it ages ago, actually.”

“Right. Well, it’s kind of embarrassing, and whenever I got up the nerve, I couldn’t get to you.” She paused. “Did you look at what was in there?”

“Yes,” John admitted, finally pulling the wood away from the wall. “I probably shouldn’t have, I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay. You couldn’t have known.” Rose leaned forward and reached into the little hole, putting out the old biscuit tin, and then a small book. 

“Were you coming for that the first night I saw you up here?” John asked.

Rose looked up from her treasures and smiled. “Not particularly. I’ve just always loved this tower. I come up here to read, to think…” She trailed off. 

“Just to get away?” John supplied. It seemed like she did a lot of that.

“Yeah. For a little while. In a place like this it’s hard to have even a little space that’s just for yourself. But this is… was… mine.” She sighed. “Suppose I’ll need another hiding place.”

“I can leave the baseboard loose for you,” John offered. “If you want. Since it’s not so secret anymore.” He hesitated. “Promise I won’t look again.

“I think I can trust you,” Rose said. “But I’m going to take these with me for now.” She rose to her feet and headed for the stairs. 

“La- Rose?” John called, standing as well. She turned. “This place, it’s… it’s still yours. There’s still work to be done, but I’m almost finished.”

This time she grinned widely, with her tongue in her teeth. “Okay,” she said, coming back towards him. “And thank you for the flowers.” Quick as a flash, she pressed a kiss to his cheek and then hurried away. 

If John was late for supper that night, it wouldn’t matter. That kiss would satisfy him until breakfast.

***

Mr. Mott told John at breakfast that Lord Powell wished to meet with them that morning. So there they were, sat in front of Lord Powell’s desk in the library, with the Earl grinning at John from the other side. They made small talk until Lady Rose joined them, looking equally pleased with herself.

“Now that we’re all here, let’s get down to business,” Lord Powell said. “We’ve all been quite impressed by your work on the House, not to mention your invaluable suggestions on other aspects of the estate.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

“Tallulah and Lazlo Laurenzi are particularly thrilled with the work on their pig barn, and the Yateses’ sheep are healthier than ever,” Rose gushed, and John felt his face grow warm. “Not to mention that fertilizer you developed for the grain fields. You never told me you knew about agriculture!”

“I worked on a few farms growing up, my lady,” John said. “I’m glad my assistance has been helpful.”

“As are we,” Lord Powell continued. “And because of that, we’d like to make you an offer.” He glanced at his daughter and smiled, giving her permission to say it.

“A promotion. We’d like you to be agent of the estate.”

John’s mouth gaped open and he looked back and forth between Lord Powell, Lady Rose, and Mr. Mott. All three were smiling, Mr. Mott with a quietly proud glow, and the other two with enthusiastic glee. “Wow. Erm, I… I don’t know what to say, my lady,” he stammered. 

“We’d like it if you said yes,” said Mr. Mott, startling John. 

“You knew?”

“Lord Powell and Lady Rose asked for my opinion and if I would be terribly inconvenienced by your absence below stairs, and I gave my strongest recommendation,” the butler explained. 

John looked back to his employers. “I’m flattered, thank you, all of you. But I don’t know if I’m qualified, I really only know the basics-”

“It would be like an apprenticeship,” Lord Powell interrupted. “You’d spend time with Lady Rose and I, go through the books, meet our lawyers, and get to know the tenants better. Once you’re fully settled we can leave you to it.”

“But what about the House? The renovations?”

“You’d have much more freedom for them,” Rose said. “You could hire more help, and make more decisions on your own. You wouldn’t have to come to us all the time for approval or money.”

“Though we’d certainly appreciate it!” Lord Powell laughed, before getting back to business. “I hope you understand how fantastic an opportunity this is. You’d have a significant increase in pay, your own cottage with a proper office. Should you choose to move on, you’d have a wealth of experience for a number of other positions.”

John swallowed hard and looked at his hands. So many things were running through his head, and while part of him just wanted to accept outright, another part reminded him of all the reasons it would be a bad idea, all the things that the Tylers didn’t know about him that would make them much less excited about offering him this job. But he couldn’t dwell on it right that moment, with everyone looking at him expectantly. So he told them, “Again, thank you my lord, my lady, this is incredibly generous of you. But I do need to think on it first.”

Lord Powell looked surprised but said he understood, while Lady Rose stared at John in confusion, and seemed like she might even be hurt. Lord Powell handed John a stack of papers - a contract to look over while he thought - and John made his exit as soon as he could. Mr. Mott stopped him in the hall, however.

“What on earth was that, John?” he asked. From anyone else it would have been angry, but Mr. Mott had a soft spot for the handyman. “Chances like that don’t come along every day. It’s perfect for you.”

John sighed. “Thank you, Mr. Mott. It’s more a question of if I’m good enough for he- for _them_.” 

Mr. Mott regarded him sternly. “John Smith, if there is anyone more suitable to work for this estate than you, I’ve yet to meet him.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know. About who I was, where I come from.”

“So I’m gathering,” Mr. Mott continued. “Come with me. You’re going to tell me all about it.”

“Mr. Mott, I can’t-”

“You can, and you will.”

“You won’t like it. You won’t like me.”

“John, I like you very much. You’ve done nothing but good work since you came here. Others may be concerned with your past, but it’s going to have to be something very disturbing for me to change my opinion.” He put his hand on John’s arm and gently led him towards the back stairs. Once out of the hall, he asked John, “Did you do anything illegal?” John nodded. “Were you arrested?” John shook his head. “And are you doing it now?”

“No!” John exclaimed. “I came here to get away. Well, the work brought me here initially, but first chance I got, I found something else. I got to the House. Nobody asked me any questions and I haven’t worried about it because I’m not in a position that draws much attention, but this...”

“Do any of the people you worked for before know you’re here?”

“One,” John sighed. “But I think… I think he owes me too much to say anything.” He ran a hand over his face. “If they knew, they wouldn’t just not offer me the job. They’d send me away. I’d rather stay and keep doing what I’m doing than have to leave.”

“You can make that assumption,” Mr. Mott said, “or you can remember that the Tylers are some of the most kind, compassionate people in the country. They care far more about hard work, loyalty, and who you are today than they do about what you might have done in the past, especially if you’re doing your best to move forward. I think you are, and I think they’ll understand that.” He squeezed John’s shoulder, forcing the young man to look at him. “Take your time to consider the offer, but because it’s the responsible thing to do, not because you’re afraid of your past. You’re a good man, John.”

John smiled weakly at Mr. Mott as the butler headed downstairs. The contracts crinkled as he squeezed the paper in his fingers, reminding him that he had work to do, reminding him that he had much to think about.

***

“It’s been _days_ , Dad,” Rose complained at breakfast. “Why hasn’t he responded?”

“Be patient, Rose. It’s a big decision for him,” Lord Powell said.

Rose poked at her eggs. It wasn’t just that John hadn’t given them an answer about the job, it was that he had hardly spoken to her at all since that meeting. He was always leaving rooms as she entered, going off to some farm on the other side of the estate, running into town, or just plain missing. He was avoiding her, and it perplexed and upset her. “I’ve hardly seen him around at all recently.”

“Are you two absolutely sure about this?” Lady Powell interjected. Unlike most married women, she eschewed breakfast in bed in favour of more time with her family, including young Anthony. Table manners could not be learned too early in her opinion. “He might be skilled, but will he be a good representative of the estate?”

“Absolutely. After us, nobody loves Bucknall like John,” Rose replied. “He started most of the restorations and repairs of his own initiative, and they’re beautiful.” Lord Powell nodded his agreement. “It means so much to him that this is his home. I truly believe we can trust him to make the best decisions for the estate.”

“Well, if you think - Anthony, stop that - if you think, ask him again. Formally. Mr. Mott?” Lady Powell called the butler over from the sideboard. “Could you see that John Smith stays put long enough for Lord Powell and Lady Rose to meet with him today?”

“Of course, my lady. I’ll let him know,” Mr. Mott said with a nod. 

“Was that so hard? Honestly, you two, if you want someone to do something, just ask!” Lady Powell tutted as she made Anthony put his napkin on his lap for the fourteenth time that morning.

***

John decided the best way to deal with his dilemma was to seek assurances from Dorium directly. With a heavy heart, he went into the Headless Monk that afternoon.

"John boy! I wasn't expecting you to here today." Dorium exclaimed.

"Neither was I," John grumbled. "I need... I need you to do something for me."

Dorium raised his eyebrows. “Oh do you? I take it this isn’t a request of the building supply variety?”

“No.” John took a deep breath, casting his eyes around the bar to make sure the two of them were actually alone. “I’ve been offered a promotion at the House, and-”

“Congratulations!”

John ignored him. “It comes with a certain amount of… visibility. I need you to help keep some… things… quiet.”

“Ahh, your former vocations, I presume? Can’t have the proud Tyler family know that you were-”

“Exactly,” John interrupted. “Well, it’s more important that other people don’t talk. The Tylers are my concern. I need you to keep everyone else quiet. Our continued business together depends on it. Can you do that?”

“I suppose I could. But I’ll need something from you,” Dorium said, and John felt a rock drop into his stomach and drag it through his guts. He knew what was coming. “The Versailles Club. Next Saturday. It’s a masquerade. Reinette will have a costume ready for you.”

John dug his fingers into the scuffed wood of the bar, stopping short of shredding his nails. “Fine. I’ll see if I can get the weekend off. If this will keep Reinette quiet too-”

Dorium smiled in his too-slick way, and John wanted to throw up. “Oh, I’m sure it will make her _very_ happy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've got ideas about what John's old job was, they're probably right. And we'll see him in action next time...


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Party. Time. Alas, not the fun kind for John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A heads up that this chapter includes unwanted sexual activity, assault (not in detail), booze, and River Song.

John returned from town only to be hustled into the library to meet with Lord Powell and Lady Rose immediately upon his entrance. Lord Powell greeted him warmly, Lady Rose a little less so, and John felt the guilt of avoiding her curl in his gut around the distaste for next weekend’s plans. 

“I’m so sorry for the delay in answering you, my lord, my lady,” John said, “but I’ve decided I would very much like to accept the position.”

“Wonderful!” Lord Powell’s face lit up, and he shook John’s hand and clapped him on the back. Lady Rose stayed seated, smiling tensely. “Please, sit, we’ll have a drink to celebrate.”

John took a place on the settee across from Lady Rose while Lord Powell handed each of them a tumbler of whiskey and encouraged them to clink their glasses together. He had managed to grab his copy of the contract before coming in and they went over the details. “I’d rather stay here in the House than in the cottage,” John said. “I want to be close by in case I’m needed here. But I’ll keep it as an office and workshop if that’s all right.”

“Certainly, that’s fine,” Lord Powell said. “We’ll have one of the guest suites set up for you.”

“Oh no, I could keep my room with Jack-”

Lord Powell waved him off. “Nonsense. You’re not staff anymore, you’re a colleague. We want you to be part of life upstairs as much as possible. Not just work, but meals, events, all of it. You’ll really get to know what the House is like, and I can only see that helping what you can do.”

He had no problem letting John take time off to go into the City, even giving him an allowance to buy proper dinner clothes while he was there so when he returned they could have a celebratory meal together. John tried to stay positive through their conversation but Rose’s stoic expression and limited contributions made it difficult. He kept shooting her pleading glances, hoping she’d understand that he was sorry and wanted to talk to her. She did, pulling him back into the Oak Room as her father left the library.

“Rose, I-”

“You had a hard time with this, didn’t you?” she interrupted, much more gently than John expected. He nodded. “I wish you’d told me.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have avoided you, I just… didn’t know how to talk about it,” he said. “Still don’t.”

“It’s okay.” She was holding his hand in hers, stroking the back with her thumbs. “As long as you’re not upset. I’m really excited for you to start.”

A grin took over John’s face. “Me too. Though I do hope I can manage dinner with your family.”

“I’ll coach you through. It’ll be okay,” Rose laughed, and the sound was music to John’s ears. “What are you doing in the City?”

“Oh, um, visiting some friends. Helping them fix a few things at their house,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. “Used to do that all the time when I lived there, now they won’t hire anyone else.” 

“Well, make sure you take the time to visit Dad’s tailor,” Rose said. “You’ll be joining us for dinner as soon as you return.”

“Yes, my lady,” John teased, bowing a little and earning himself a light smack on the shoulder. “I’ve got to get back to work.”

“Of course. Let’s meet soon for those dinner lessons, hmm?” She didn’t wait for him to answer, just swept out of the room with her tongue in her smile and a much lighter step than she’d had this morning.

***

Rose took it upon herself to open up a room for John while he was away, choosing a modest one in a neutral section of the upper floor - away from the family, but not too close to where they put their most important guests. It was one he’d redone already, with little direction from Lady Powell other than “something masculine.” He’d chosen rich browns and blues, clean lines in the light wood furniture, and comparatively plain drapes to highlight the view of the pond and the woods. Rose threw open the windows as Donna and Gwen brought in linens and started making the bed. 

“I hope this won’t be too strange for you downstairs,” Rose said, stuffing a pillow into its case. The two maids had long since given up on trying to stop her from doing any household work.

“It’ll be much quieter at dinner, my lady,” Donna remarked, sending Gwen into a giggling fit. 

“He _does_ chatter on, doesn’t he? Get him started on something he’s passionate about and you’ll never get a word in edgewise,” Rose said. 

“Don’t we know it,” said Gwen. “Truthfully, we’ll miss him downstairs but we’re very proud.”

“Jack’s looking forward to having the room to himself. Says John snores like a tractor,” Donna said. 

“Donna, have you seen Lance Bennett lately?” Gwen asked. This was purely for Rose’s benefit; she was still trying to find out about whatever business Sir James had going on.

“We had coffee last week, but he’ll be in the City for the next little while,” Donna said. “Something about overseeing some shipments and deliveries, not sure what. We’re going to get together again when he comes back.”

“You’re quite fond of each other, then?” Rose asked. 

“He takes an interest me,” she answered. “That doesn’t happen very often. It’s nice.”

Rose hummed in agreement and watched the other women spread a duvet over the bed. “I can certainly understand the appeal of that.” She appraised the room and made a few mental notes on things to bring in, then left Donna and Gwen to finish up, wondering if John’s trip was going well.

***

John’s trip was not going well. Thankfully, he hadn’t expected it to, so it was not a disappointment. There had been a bright spot early on when he arrived at Jenny and Vastra’s townhouse - he hadn’t been lying about the friends who only wanted him to do their repairs. The women were delighted to see him, and not just because it meant the end of their leaky faucet and loose doorknobs. John would be staying with them when he wasn’t at the Club, because he’d be damned if Reinette tried to slot in any other activities for him around the next night’s party. Before he could even set his bag down, Vastra and Jenny ushered him into their parlour and plied him with tea and biscuits, demanding he bring them up to date with his life in Bucknall. 

“You don’t write nearly enough, John,” Jenny said. “Last we heard you were fixing drains, and now you’re an agent!” 

“Yeeaahh,” John drawled, tugging at his ear. “Lady Rose came home, we started renovating the house, and I think when she talks to her father she makes me sound much more impressive than I actually am. And I _am_ impressive, to be sure, but-” 

“She’s sweet on you, isn’t she?” Vastra interrupted. 

John choked on his tea. “What? What? No, no no no, she’s just incredibly kind, she’s like that with everyone. She’s very generous, and encouraging, and brilliant, really… what are you laughing at?”

Jenny couldn’t stop giggling, but Vastra managed long enough to say, “I had it the wrong way ‘round. _You’re_ sweet on _her_.” John turned bright red and slouched in his armchair, as if his teacup could shield him. “Oh, I’m sorry John, we shouldn’t laugh. It’s just that I’ve never seen you look as happy as you do when you talk about Lady Rose.”

“I don’t understand, John. If things are going so well, why are you going back to the Club?” Jenny asked. 

“To make sure they stay that way,” John muttered, his mood plummeting. “I need a rest from that train trip. I’ll be up in time for supper.” 

Still, spending time with his friends could only delay the inevitable, and on Saturday evening he made his way to an innocuous-looking set of rowhouses in a fashionable part of the City. Rounding the corner, he took the back laneway to a set of stairs that led into the basement of one of the units. Past trunks and boxes was another stairwell, and up he went into a dark panelled hallway, where he knocked on a door. 

“ _Qui est-ce_?”

“It’s John.”

The door swung open and Reinette Poisson, manager of the Versailles Club, greeted John in nothing but a smile and her dressing gown. “I’m so glad you decided to come!” She took his shoulders and air-kissed both his cheeks, dragging him into her boudoir. “It’s going to be a lovely party, everyone will be here. It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

John made a noncommittal noise and glanced around the room. It hadn’t changed much in the past year or so, all rich fabrics and carved furniture. This anteroom served as an office and parlour, but Reinette swept past her immaculate desk through the double doors into her bedroom, chattering about the party and who would be there and who she had working and the nerve of those caterers, asking all their inappropriate questions. 

The Versailles was one of the most popular underground clubs in the City, a members-only haven for the elite set looking for drugs, booze, and sex. Shortly after John had started making deliveries for Dorium, he’d been sent on a run to the Versailles and promptly been singled out by Reinette. She thought he’d be an excellent asset. He needed the money. After a few assignations at the Club and a couple of dates to society parties, he got a reputation for being charming, witty, and talented, becoming one of Reinette’s prized staff and a client favourite in less than a year. At twenty, he was making an absurd amount of money and hating every minute of it, but kept up the act for another four years before hopping a train to Bucknall, planning to never look back.

So much for that. 

Reinette didn’t bother with the screen in her room as she shucked her dressing gown and began putting on her outfit for party, talking all the while. John wandered through her office, deliberately not looking in her direction. Before, when he’d been here all the time, she’d make him sit at the foot of her bed while she told him the plans for the evening. He was determined not to fall into old routines. Evidently, tonight’s occasion was her good friend’s birthday, she’d gotten his old room all set up for him, and he was going to _love_ his costume. John filtered out the inane parts and focused on what he absolutely needed to know, one habit he was definitely keeping. While Reinette described the flowers, he noticed a set of files on her desk, neatly stacked, with _H.C. Clements_ in her elegant handwriting along the tab. Where had he heard that name before?

He didn’t have time to think, as Reinette was leading him down the hall to the suite that had been his just a few years ago. It too looked the same, almost as if she’d been waiting for his return. It was a dark and imposing room, and John had never liked it much. On the deep red bedspread were some primly folded, rich brown clothes, and a matching mask with small antlers. 

“A stag, am I?” John said, picking up the mask. He looked Reinette up and down, raising an eyebrow at her filmy, gossamer dress. “You don’t look like a huntress.”

“Oh no, I most certainly am not!” Reinette laughed. “Did Dorium not tell you? I didn’t want you here for me, you’re here for the birthday girl!”

He was a present. Fantastic. It wasn’t the first time; John just hoped this recipient would play nicely with their toy. He stripped off his shirt and tossed it in a corner, knowing full well that Reinette would fold it and put it away. He could feel her evaluating him, assessing if his body was the same as it was two years ago. Ever the businesswoman, things like this were always clinical with Reinette. It was like disrobing for a doctor’s examination.

“I haven’t let myself go, if that’s what you’re wondering,” John said, replacing his trousers with the soft hide ones on the bed. They were skintight but slid up to his hips with ease. “Manual labour is good exercise.”

“Good. I used your old measurements to have these made. I’m more concerned about whether your skills are still up to par,” she said, stowing his street clothes in a drawer. 

“They’re fine,” he answered stiffly, turning to a mirror to arrange his hair. 

A loud bell sounded from downstairs, and Reinette excused herself. “That should be our guest of honour.” She returned momentarily, before John could figure out how to best style his hair to go along with the mask, accompanied by an older woman with a mass of red curls cascading over her shoulders. “John, this is River Song. You’ll be her companion this evening.”

“Hello, Sweetie,” River said, extending a perfectly manicured set of fingers.

John took a deep breath, plastered on a smile, and bent to kiss River’s hand. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” The act was on.

***

River _really_ liked her wine. And she _really_ wanted John to like it too. Thankfully, pretending to drink was one of the skills John still had, because he very much needed his wits about him. He’d never seen the Versailles so full of people. One room had tables loaded with food; several shirtless young men distributed cocktails, wine, and champagne; another room had a stage where some of Reinette’s more flexible girls were dancing; loud music flowed over and among the guests; every available seat in the building was occupied by at least one couple. John was pretty sure he recognised most of the other staff despite the masks, but Reinette must have called in every favour she had to get more, to ensure that every interested guest could be satisfied. He could also pick out a few long-time clients from under their disguises - the Duke of Manhattan’s corpulence could not be hidden, nor could the commanding tones of Lady Cassandra O’Bryan’s voice. 

After fetching two more glasses of wine, River pushed John onto a couch next to a friend and perched on his lap, only focusing on her conversation once she thought he was drinking. He kept his hands busy to let her think he was still paying attention to her. A lithe blonde in a red dress settled on his other side, and John did a double take when he figured out who she was. 

“Lucy?”

“John! Oh my goodness, what are you doing here? We never thought we’d see you back!”

“It’s just a favour. You’re still working here?”

Lucy nodded. “The owner really likes me. He’s moved me into his house, well, one of his houses. He takes good care of me.”

“The _owner_? Mr. Saxon? Wow, that’s incredible.” Even after working at the club for years, John hadn’t actually met the elusive financier behind the Versailles. Saxon left day-to-day operations to Reinette, and while he stopped by frequently, somehow John was never around at the time. John and Lucy managed to catch up a little before one of the servers came and murmured something in her ear.

“That’ll be him ready for me, he was taking care of a little business,” Lucy said. She looked at John with a little bit of sadness behind her mask. “I hope you do well, John, and that we don’t have to see you here again.”

“Thanks, Lucy. Take care of yourself.” 

Before Lucy had even left, River had turned back to John and was sucking at his neck, discarding their wine glasses and guiding his hands to other places on her body. John choked back a sigh and played along, eventually letting her pull him to his feet and drag him upstairs. This, of course, took forever, as the birthday girl had to stop and talk to all of her well-wishers along the way. Someone was telling her how she looked like she hadn’t aged a day, and while they traded beauty secrets John heard a commotion near the back stairs. “Meet me up there?” he said to River, and she sent him off. 

It was hard to hear over the music and talking, but John was certain there had been a shout and a bang. He stuck his head in the stairwell and his suspicions were confirmed - in the crawlspace under the stairs was a man pressing a squirming woman against the wall. Her mask had fallen to the floor and she was trying to push him away. 

“Hey!” John shouted, and in a few quick strides he was able to grab the man’s shoulders and pull him off the woman, shoving him to the opposite wall. 

The man wrestled away and sneered. “I paid for her, you know.”

“This isn’t how we do things around here,” John thundered. “Get the hell out.” They stared each other down, John pulling himself to his full height and daring the assailant to try something. He didn’t. 

Once the man had left, John turned around to his victim, who was picking up her mask and trying to tie it back on. “Hey, don’t worry about that. Lynda, isn’t it?”

She looked up at John in surprise. “You know who I am?”

“You started here about two years ago, just before I left. I’m John.”

“Thanks, John. But I should get back out there.”

“Nonsense, let’s take a look at you.” Lynda had bruises on her arms, a rip in her dress, and her hair was falling out of its updo. “You should rest. Reinette won’t mind. She’ll be furious, in fact, once she hears about this. Come on.” John guided Lynda upstairs to her room and made sure she was okay, telling her to rest and talk to Reinette the next day, though he doubted she’d listen to him. Once she was settled, John made his way to his room, puttered around setting a few things up, and sat on the bed, head in his hands, waiting for River.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One thing ends, and another starts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I drop some bombs, and then I get fluffy. That's how I roll.

John woke up the morning after the party surprised that he’d slept at all. River was insatiable for the first little while, but all the alcohol had caught up to her fairly quickly and she remained passed out in the other side of the bed. Still, John lay awake for a long time, feeling guilty and angry and vaguely sticky. River was on her side facing away from him, and John stared at the ceiling. He thought about getting up, sneaking out, but it would all be for naught if he didn’t see it through to the end. Gingerly, he turned over and rummaged in the drawer of the bedside table - yes, that old science fiction adventure novel he’d forgotten was still there. Reading slowly, since he didn’t have his glasses, kept him occupied until River woke up. She was decidedly hung over, and mercifully, chose to avail herself of the breakfast downstairs that had been promised to the guests. John stayed in bed after she left and read three more chapters before putting his own clothes back on and heading straight for Reinette’s chambers.

As expected, she was at her desk answering correspondence, completely polished despite the late night before. Before she could say anything, John started in.

“Who did you have Lynda with last night?”

“Good morning to you too, John,” Reinette said, carefully laying down her pen. “And why do you ask?”

“Because the barbarian attacked her in the back stairwell last night. I got her away and told her to rest, but I doubt she did and I’m also sure she hasn’t told you about it.”

“She hasn’t. Thank you for bringing it to my attention.” Reinette turned back to her work and John gaped. 

“That’s it? You’re not going after him? Making sure he never comes back, blacklisting him from the other clubs?”

“This case isn’t that simple, John.”

“ _How_?” John cried, slamming his hands on Reinette’s desk. “You’ve thrown out some of the most powerful people in the country for lesser infractions! What could possibly be stopping you-”

“He works with Mr. Saxon,” Reinette interrupted. “One of his top men, pours buckets of money into his projects and investments, including this establishment. I drop James Stone, I lose this place. Lynda, Lucy, all of them, lose their jobs. You know full well there is not much else out there for women like us.”

“James Stone. _Sir_ James Stone.” John stared at Reinette as she tightened her lips and avoided his eyes, knowing that she’d slipped up. “You have _got_ to be kidding me.”

“I’m aware you may be a neighbour of his. I do hope you’ll be discreet about this once you return home.”

“Bloody hell, Reinette, the man’s practically courting my boss’s daughter!”

“And he won’t be your boss long if he finds out how you spent last night,” Reinette shot back. “I’m told the Tylers are an intelligent family. I’m sure they can figure out on their own what Stone is like and act accordingly.” She turned back to her work, leaving John clenching his fists at his side, at a rare loss for words. “Please help yourself to breakfast downstairs, I’ve ordered in quite the feast.”

John’s appetite had long since fled. He stormed out, barely avoiding slamming the door, and took the long way back to Jenny and Vastra’s house. Reinette was right about one thing - the Tylers were smart, including Rose, but just to be safe, it wouldn’t hurt for him to nudge her in the right direction.

***

Despite their age difference, Rose and her brother Anthony were incredibly close, and her absence from Bucknall had only made their devotion to each other fiercer. Rose loved spending time with him, and none of the ten-year-old’s antics were too foolish for her. They savoured their more quiet moments together too, such as the Monday afternoon they spent in the Orange Room, a small conservatory overlooking the terrace that once upon a time had orange trees in it, though they’d never borne fruit.

A table had been spread with newspapers, they wore smocks over their clothes, and worked together on carefully assembling a model car. Automobiles, planes, trains - these were Master Anthony’s latest obsession. He glued together pieces with a surprising amount of dexterity, and Rose painted the parts and panels with far more detail than the instructions called for. Indeed, the instructions had been cast aside and ignored, since Anthony had made so many models before that it had become second nature to him. 

“Rosie, Mama says you’re supposed to get married and move out,” Anthony said.

Rose looked up in surprise. “Well, everyone starts their own life apart from their parents sometime. It’s part of growing up.”

“I don’t want you to move away. I _missed_ you while you were at school.”

“I missed you too, Tony, and I’m not going anywhere for a good long while. But you know, you’re going to go to school soon, too.”

Anthony wrinkled his nose and handed Rose the next part to be painted. “I’d rather go learn about cars with Mickey.”

Laughing, Rose told him, “I’m sure you can do both.”

“Or I wanna learn about building with John.”

Rose pressed her lips together. Evidently John was back at Bucknall, arrived the previous day, but he’d snuck into the House and gone back up to his quarters with the servants, hardly speaking to anyone. She supposed his trip to the City hadn’t gone well, but after their talk she wasn’t pleased that he seemed to have forgotten about not avoiding her. “You can do that too. But after you go to school.”

“Fine,” Anthony pouted. 

“Your sister’s right. School has to come first.” 

Rose and Anthony both looked towards the door, where John was leaning with a small smile on his face. Anthony nearly jumped up, but Rose stopped him, reminding him of the glue and paint on his smock. The boy shed the garment and ran to grab John around the waist. “John! You’re back!”

“That I am, Master Anthony. It’s good to see you.” He ruffled Anthony’s hair affectionately and let himself be lead to the table. “And you, Lady Rose.” 

“Welcome home, Mister Smith,” Rose said. “Did you have a good time in the city?”

John gave Rose a funny look. “It was all right. I did see your father’s tailor as he suggested. Pretty good bloke.” He tugged at his lapels with a grin. “Haven’t had a new suit in a long time.”

“He did a good job,” Rose said, unable to stop her eyes from flitting over John’s form appraisingly. Dark brown, blue pinstripes; with bright flowers on the tie - it looked an awful lot like a dressed-up version of his old work clothes, and Rose liked it. “Did he make you dinner clothes as well?”

“Yup. They should be arriving today. Now what are you making, Tony Tyler? Oooh, now this is an excellent specimen! Look at that engine!” He pulled a set of dark-rimmed glasses out of his jacket pocket and perched them on his nose. “Now, if you wanted that to go _really_ fast, you’d have to move that pipe from here to here, recalibrate the master converter, and-”

“And make it way bigger!” Anthony giggled.

“I never would have thought of that!” John said in mock astonishment. 

He stayed with Rose and Anthony for the rest of the afternoon, occasionally telling them stories of places he’d travelled and people he’d met, but mostly just quietly watching them, only helping with the model if Anthony asked. Rose had only seen him this quiet during meetings, when he was listening to someone else and actually being polite. There were remains of dark circles under his eyes, and his hair wasn’t quite as wild as it usually was. When Clara, Anthony’s governess, came to get him ready for his supper, Rose took John’s arm as he prepared to leave and they walked out into the hall together. 

“Is everything okay?” 

“Yes, of course, _molto bene_. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“You just don’t seem quite like yourself today. Did your friends have a lot of work for you to do?”

“What? Oh. Yes. Lots to do,” he said, his eyes darting everywhere but her face. 

Rose stopped him. “John.”

“Yes. Sorry. Just… tired. I think I’ll lie down a bit before dinner. I saw the room, by the way, it’s lovely, thank you very much.” 

Rose smiled. “You’re welcome. Mum thinks it’s too bright.”

John shook his head. “You know me far better than she does. I like it. I’ve moved almost all of my things in already.” He saw that Rose still looked concerned and squeezed the hand resting on his arm. “Hey. I’m all right. Tired, like I said. But I’m really glad to be home. I’ll see you at dinner, okay?” 

Rose nodded and let him go, though she didn’t quite believe him.

***

John didn’t end up resting before dinner, just finished bringing his things down to his new room, with much ribbing from Jack about the number of books he had. They were left in haphazard stacks about the room, his old clothes were tossed in the wardrobe, and his new clothes were hung up a little bit askew. Rose really had made the room quite nice, much cheerier than he would have chosen for himself, and her kindness made him smile. She’d even left him flowers, a vase of blue hyacinths and white pencilled geraniums with a few pink roses tucked in. He could see them from where he was flopped on the bed if he turned his head, which he did to avoid looking at the tuxedo that had been brought up while he was with Rose and Anthony. Just black tie tonight, not white, thankfully.

Eventually the gong sounded and John got up to change clothes. He’d never understood why the upper classes made dinner such a production every single night. He pondered actually taking the cottage, just so he wouldn’t have to put on the penguin suit every day, but supposed he’d ought to give it a try this once before he made that decision.

There was a soft knock on the door, and John opened the door to find Lord Powell’s valet, Ianto Jones. “I was asked to come see if you needed any assistance getting ready for dinner, Mr. Smith.”

“None of that nonsense, Ianto, I’m still John,” he said, letting the other man in the room. “And I’m almost done. It’s been a while since I wore one of these stupid things but I’m pretty sure I still know how to put it on.”

“Your tie is wrong. Come here.” Ianto undid the bow and fussed with the winged collar. “When did you have occasion to wear a tuxedo?”

“Got invited to some party by a friend, years ago,” John said, deliberately vague. Ianto didn’t need to know it was at the Versailles. “Was a little out of my element then but this is far more terrifying.”

Ianto smirked. “You’ll be fine. It’s just the family, Mickey Smith, and Martha Jones. Nice and quiet.” He brushed down the nonexistent lint from John’s shoulders, and John adjusted his hair in the mirror. “Forks are on the left, wait until the ladies begin to start eating, stand up when a lady does, and just… don’t be rude.” He clapped John on the shoulder. “All set. Can I help you with anything else?”

“Cross your fingers and hope they go easy on me,” he joked. It was easier than explaining that he knew all the etiquette, it was the company that was intimidating - there was no ‘just’ about the Tyler family in his mind. Ianto tried to stay behind to tidy up John’s clothes but John shooed him out. “I don’t want you waiting on me. It’s going to be weird enough having Jack serve me dinner.” 

Of course John knew full well that Ianto would be in there the first chance he got, but at least he’d tried.

The family met in the drawing room before dinner. John was the last one there, and he saw Rose’s face light up when he entered. She came right over, made sure he got a glass of sherry, introduced him to Martha and Mickey. He and Rose were seated next to each other at dinner, to John’s relief, but dinner went extraordinarily well. Lord Powell was thrilled to have him there, Lady Powell kept telling him to eat more because he was too skinny, Martha was incredibly kind and smart. Mickey was a bit more standoffish, but it was easy to ignore him, especially when Jack kept sending John funny looks to make him laugh. 

And Rose. _Rose_. She offered to let him copy her table manners and grinned when she saw that he already knew what to do. She defused Mickey’s skeptical questions. She got him talking about gardening with her mother, developments in wound treatment with Martha, even mechanics with Mickey. He’d been at parties before, having these conversations with strangers, being charming and friendly, but this time, he realised, he was _enjoying_ it. When Rose beamed at him, he couldn’t help but break out in a big smile of his own. The conversation flowed easily, rather than from a mental index of possible topics. Before he knew it, they were retiring to the library, then bidding each other good night. 

“Lady Rose,” John said. “May I ask you to join me in the West Tower tomorrow morning? I have some work to show you.”

“Of course, I’d love to see it,” she said, amused at his formality even though nobody else was listening to them. “Good night, Mr. Smith.”

***

Breakfast was equally pleasant, and John felt himself relaxing slightly. It was even fun, with Master Anthony present and peppering John with questions about everything. He excused himself early to get to the Tower, and met Rose at the bottom of the stairs.

“Put this on,” he said, handing her a length of cloth. “It’s a surprise.”

Rose let him tie the blindfold around her head. “You’d better not let me fall down the stairs.”

“You _wound_ me, Rose Tyler. I’d never let such a thing happen.” He took her hands, resting one on the railing and leading her up with the other. When they reached the top, he positioned her safely, made one last check of the room, and then stood behind her to remove the blindfold. “Okay. You can look.”

Rose gasped. The Tower room looked completely different, and magnificent. The walls were white, the floor a shiny blonde wood with a rug in red, pink, and cream. Fabric in similar colours made up the curtains in every window, and the cushions lining the window seats. There was a big, cozy armchair, a gleaming table and chairs, and a small bookshelf crammed with titles. John stood back and watched Rose walk and turn about the room, examining its transformation. 

“Oh John. It’s _beautiful_.” She peeked through the windows, brand new and clear over the sun-soaked gardens. 

“This place is for you. As a thank you.”

“I should be the one thanking you, John, this is incredible. You’ve done so much work, and I’ve just-”

“There’s something else, too,” he said, grinning and crouching down by a wall. He gently pulled at a section of baseboard and it slid open easily, revealing her secret compartment. 

Rose laughed and joined him there. “You kept it!”

“Of course I did.” He stood up as she peered inside, and watched her shut the cubby up again. “I thought about putting something in there, but then I couldn’t decide on anything, and I didn’t want to put off showing you any longer. But I did bring up some books from the library, they were back in a corner and Mr. Mott told me you’d read them all as a girl, and I remembered you telling me about some of them, so I thought they’d go well up here where you used to spend a lot of time, and-”

He was abruptly cut off, as Rose had gotten to her feet, a watery smile forming on her face, stepped towards him and risen up on her toes to put her hands on his shoulders and press her lips to his. John blinked rapidly, startled, and as his head spun he only had Rose’s waist to put his hands on and help him keep his balance. She was warm, and she smelled good, and she was smiling against his mouth, and he could _just_ think enough to close his eyes and kiss her back. It was with some disappointment that he felt her slowly drop away, sliding her fingers down his lapels, and when he opened his eyes again, she was gazing up at him with parted lips and a curious expression. 

“Thank you,” Rose murmured.

“You’re welcome,” John managed to get out. He was out of breath. He probably looked ridiculous. He had no idea what was supposed to happen next. Rose started laughing. “I’m saying that out loud, aren’t I?” 

She nodded. “You do look a little rumpled,” she said. “And I don’t know what comes next either. I’ve just really wanted to do that for a while. Is that-is that okay?”

He grinned. “That is definitely okay,” he said, and leaned down to kiss her again.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you veritascara for reading this over for me!

Quite contrary to what they might have expected, John and Rose soon found themselves settling into a routine as summer went on. They worked together closely, visiting tenants, supervising John’s renovation crew, and sorting out furnishings from dusty old rooms. Meals became less fraught for John, he played with Anthony whenever he had a chance, traded books with Lord Powell, and made an effort to listen to Lady Powell’s decorating ideas. He even, at some moments, forgot about looking over his shoulder, keeping his ear to the ground for any indication that his past might be revealed. Dorium stopped making comments whenever he went into the bar. There weren’t any surprise dinner guests that recognised him. He could almost relax. 

Rose was constantly moving, working with John here, meeting with her father there, having tea with her mother and the neighbours now, then chasing Anthony around the gardens. She went out to visit the tenants regularly, even convincing John to teach her how to drive.

They were rumbling along the road to the Yates farm in a battered old blue car that John had taken a shine to. Lord Powell had suggested one of his other vehicles, but John turned the jalopy into a project and got it running fairly well. The engine was still incredibly loud, though, and they had to shout to hear each other. 

John cursed and banged on the dashboard as the car sputtered, sending Rose into a fit of giggles at his frustration. “You should teach me how to do that,” she called.

“Fix the car?”

“Yeah! And how to drive it.”

“You want to learn how to drive? Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure, or I wouldn’t be asking!” Rose smacked him playfully on the shoulder, just as the engine coughed and died. John carefully maneuvered to the side of the road and put the car into park. 

“I suppose now’s as good a time as any, seeing as we’ve got to start her up again,” he said. “Come here.” Rose slid over on the front bench so John could show her all the controls, pointing out the quirks and the right spots to whack in order to get things running properly. She relished the excuse to lean into his side. “Other cars are not this complicated,” he admitted. 

“You mean normal cars.”

“I mean boring, average, ordinary cars! This one, this one has style, personality, character! You want something ‘normal,’ go see that Rickey of yours.”

“It’s Mickey,” Rose corrected, “and I’m relatively sure this one came from his shop too. Probably one of the first ones his dad ever sold.”

John chose to ignore that and hopped out to run around to the passenger side so Rose could give it a go. Before he could remind her of the trick to the ignition, the engine turned over easily. He was flummoxed. “That never happens!”

“I think she likes me,” Rose teased, sticking her tongue in her teeth. “Now, I press this button here?” John shook his head. “This one?”

“Now you’ve just killed us. Over one more.” Rose found the right button, shifted the gears, and with a bit of a lurch when she pressed down on the gas, they were off, Rose laughing with glee. 

“Oh my gosh, I’m doing it! I’m driving!”

John coached her through gently guiding the car back onto the road and getting back on their way. They managed to get to the farm without much incident, either from the car or Rose’s awkward steering that made John grit his teeth. When they parked by the farmhouse and got out, Rose bounded over to John and he swept her into a big hug, congratulating her on the successful drive. He took the opportunity to sneak a kiss on her cheek just before Mr. Yates came out to greet them. 

“Something to celebrate?” the farmer asked.

“Mr. Smith just gave me my first driving lesson,” Rose said, beaming at John. 

“She’s a natural,” John said. “Now, how are those lambs?”

The sheep were fine, growing fast and thriving. John and Rose stayed for a cup of tea, then continued their visits, Rose insisting on more practice behind the wheel. The car did seem to like her better, with fewer hiccups (though it refused to get quieter), and while she parked crookedly once they’d returned to the House, Rose really did seem to have a knack for driving. She thanked John for the lessons by dragging him behind a cabinet in the garage and snogging him soundly. 

“Rose,” John murmured between kisses, “not that I object in any way to this activity, but we aren’t exactly in the most secluded of spaces.” Rose grumbled and pulled away, though John kept hold of her hands. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“No, you’re right. Strax is probably around somewhere… and they’ll be expecting us inside soon.” She sighed, and closed her eyes. 

John leaned down and cupped her cheek, kissing her forehead and then her lips. “Hey. You were great today. With the tenants, and the driving. How about we practice more tomorrow?” He hoped that the look in his eyes was conveying just what he meant by ‘practicing,’ and by the way she smiled, he was pretty sure she got it. 

“Tomorrow,” she agreed, stealing one last kiss before turning to go inside. 

After the next day’s errands (which included a stop in a secluded bit of the woods), Rose and John returned home for luncheon, where it was announced that Sir James and some other guests would be joining them for dinner that night.

Rose gritted her teeth and tried not to roll her eyes. Their neighbour had been absent from their table as of late, which was a relief after he’d spent so much time there in the spring. Evidently he’d been travelling for business as of late and had just returned to Bucknall, so Lord and Lady Powell had invited him over. Her mother had given up on Rose finding some sort of long lost connection with the man, but her father was still involved with his business. 

“He’ll have a few of his associates with him,” Lady Powell explained. “We’re welcoming them to the neighbourhood!” Why Sir James needed the Tylers’ help with that, Rose couldn’t fathom. 

“John, are you quite all right?” Lord Powell asked. “You look a bit peaky.” 

“What? Oh, sorry, yes, fine, just lost in thought.” 

Rose raised an eyebrow at John, noticing he’d gone white as a sheet. “Perhaps you might want to rest a bit before we start for the afternoon?”

“I’m okay, thank you,” he insisted. “Just ate a bit too quickly, that’s all.” 

His colour did come back as the meal went on, but John seemed rather distracted afterwards and soon excused himself on the pretense of some other work. Rose saw him again in the parlour before dinner, polished up in white tie for the guests with his usual toothy grin on his face.

Sir James had brought along Lance Bennett and a few other colleagues, but on his arm was a small, milquetoast blonde in a dress that hung a little loose on her and a nervously polite smile. “Lady Rose, Mr. Smith, may I introduce Miss Lynda Moss?”

Lynda’s handshake had an uneasy grip to it, an attempt to cover up a natural lack of force. Her eyes darted nervously between Rose and John, and then around the room while they conversed. After Lynda and Sir James moved on to talk to someone else, Rose said, “Something seems odd about her.”

“Miss Moss? She’s sweet.”

“She is, she is, but… I don’t know, it’s less about her as herself and more about her as Sir James’s companion. The way she interacts with him, how much makeup she has caked on… Did they ever say how they know each other?”

John shrugged and sipped his drink. “Mutual friends, I think? She’s probably just nervous. I felt the same way, first time I was at one of these things. Lucky for her, your family is _much_ nicer than the one I was with at the time.” 

Rose mulled this over as they were called into the dining room. Unfortunately she wasn’t seated near Miss Moss, but John was, and he seemed to put the girl at ease. Rose turned her attention to the conversation near her, between Mickey and Lance Bennett, about various business strategies. 

“There’s simply no point in making investments if you’re not going to take any risks,” Lance said. 

“Sure, but there’s risk, and then there’s foolishness,” Mickey replied. “What you’re proposing is jumping in without looking at all the information. I can’t just hand over my money without seeing the details of what it’s going to.”

“That’s what we do,” Lance insisted. “We do the research, so investors don’t have to. They can trust us to find the best places to put their money.”

Mickey shook his head. “But you’re not giving me any of that information, and explaining why it makes sense. I’m sorry Mr. Bennett, I’m not going to get involved in this without looking everything over.”

“Quite reasonable, Mickey,” Rose said, hoping to de-escalate the interaction. “Mr. Bennett, I’m sure H. C. Clements has some fine opportunities for investment, and if you were to bring a portfolio by Mr. Smith would be glad to discuss it further.” She and Mickey exchanged a look, one of their old standbys that expressed their mutual understanding that something was rather ridiculous. “Now, I’m told that you’re acquainted with my mother’s lady’s maid, Donna Noble?”

“Oh, yes. We grew up in the same neighbourhood. I’ve had the pleasure of reconnecting with Miss Noble recently, she’s an... extraordinary woman,” Lance said. 

With the topic diverted and crisis averted, Rose filed away this information about the investments her father had made with Sir James to look into the next day, and dinner carried on. 

The topic of investments came up again in the library after dinner, while they sipped coffee and port. Once again, John went pale, this time when H. C. Clements was mentioned. He was silently thankful that Rose wasn't with him, as Lance made his pitch again.

"Sorry, mate, can't be investing money I don't have," he told Lance. 

"Surely even if you don't _personally_ have the resources," Lance said, a little sneer indicating his opinion of John's status, "aren't you agent of the estate now?"

John snorted. "You've not exactly given me much to go on, Mr. Bennett. Send me some more information and I'll consult with Lord Powell. If you'll excuse me." He'd overheard parts of what Lance had been saying to Mickey and really did not want to argue with this man.

All sorts of pieces were falling together. H. C. Clements, Sir James Stone, Lance Bennett, the Versailles. When he'd started working for Dorium, he'd not imagined how deep and how dangerous the man's business ran. The more he learned, the more he became concerned for what the Tyler family was getting involved in. It was more than Sir James courting Lady Rose - Lord Powell had taken investment advice from the man. Clearly the Earl didn't know the details of where his money was going. John hoped his employer trusted him enough to allow him to take a closer look at his books, and respected him enough to take his advice. At the very least Lord Powell needed to stop going through H. C. Clements. John doubted the returns would be all that good, and they certainly weren't worth the harm the money would be causing elsewhere down the line. 

John caught Lynda's eye across the room, and she smiled weakly. Sir James must have been paying a lot of money for Reinette to allow him to take Lynda out of town. He'd told her at dinner to get in touch any time if she needed help, and he'd meant it. John's stomach churned. He checked the time - it wasn't too early to duck out. He made his excuses and slipped away.

***

The staff were surprised to see John come downstairs to the servants' dining room, where all but Mr. Mott and a few footmen were sitting down to eat.

"Are we supposed to stand for you, _Mr. Smith_?" Amelia teased. 

"Please, don't," he said, plopping down in an empty chair and waving at the junior staff who were half out of their seats. "No standing."

"You can stand for me," Donna joked, coming in from the kitchen and sitting next to John. "We've missed you, Spaceman."

"I've missed you too. Do you have any idea how uncomfortable these things are?" He tugged off his tie, smirking at Ianto when the valet quickly grabbed it and neatly folded the strip of cloth. 

John ended up staying downstairs far too late, playing cards and catching up with everyone. When Donna returned from seeing to Lady Powell, he asked her about Lance.

"Does he tell you much about his work?" John asked.

Donna shook her head. "Mostly he just says how well it's going, how exciting it is, that they've got so many new products and businesses that they're helping." She laid down her cards and John groaned, handing over her winnings. "He's incredibly keen to get more people to invest."

"I could tell. It's all he talked about at dinner. Even tried to get me in on it, both on my own and for the estate." He dealt a new hand. 

"He's got quite a nice house in the City," Donna said. "With a few staff, and room to grow..."

"Donna Noble, you are _not_ thinking of marrying him," Gwen interrupted. 

"Well he hasn't _asked_ ," Donna said, a huge smile on her face. 

"Just a few months ago you were angry at your mother for trying to set the two of you up!" John exclaimed.

"And just a few months ago _you_ were unclogging sinks! Now look at you!"

"That's different," John insisted. "This is a job, not hitching my life to one person I barely even know!"

"We grew up together, John."

"And then didn't see each other for twenty years."

Donna sighed, but there was fire in her eyes to match her hair. "I don't expect you to understand, John. A woman my age, she has to start thinking about a future, what things are going to be like when she's old and grey. I could stay a lady's maid forever, or try to do something better with my life."

"I... I just don't want you to get hurt."

"Or you don't want me to leave," she snapped. "I fold. Good night everyone." Donna tossed her cards on the table and stormed off. 

It was a winning hand.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose is grumpy. John is learning things. Lady Powell is ready to party.

There came a time when all of Rose’s attempts to balance the various aspects of her life began to falter, one by one, and no amount of smiles and make-up could hide how exhausted she was. It was, of course, the same week that Sir James Stone officially re-opened Peckham Hall, with everyone in the area invited to a party to celebrate. 

Mr. Mott presented the invitation to Lord Powell with the post one morning, while Rose attempted not to fall asleep in her eggs, John looking on in concern. Lady Powell immediately began chattering about what they would wear and what they should bring as a housewarming gift.

“Housewarming? Mum, it’s not like it’s a new place, the family’s had it for generations,” Rose said. 

“It’s been sitting empty for years, Rose, and he’s going to be all by himself in there,” Lady Powell chided. 

“Hardly, he’s got more staff than the bloody royal family,” she grumbled.

“Rose! What’s gotten into you this morning?” 

“I’m just a bit tired of all this business with Sir James,” she said. “There’s something not right about him, I don’t like it.”

“He’s still our neighbour, and we have an obligation to be friendly,” Lady Powell declared. “Isn’t that right, Peter?”

“Of course, dear,” Lord Powell said, rather absently. He was still involved with the rest of the post. “John, this is for you.”

“Oh, thanks.” John quickly took his letters from Lord Powell and turned back to his plate. He and Anthony were pretending their sausages were cars and driving them around the city of Eggtropolis, grateful that Lady Powell was more concerned with her daughter’s attitude than their table manners. 

“Rose, I know you and John have to go into town today, so please try to find something nice for us to bring over for the party,” Lady Powell instructed. “Do you think you can manage that?”

“Yes, Mother,” Rose sighed. She held back a smirk as she saw John and Anthony crash their sausage cars into each other, quickly devouring the wreckage, just in time for her mother to check on them. Both grinned innocently.

As Rose and John were getting ready to leave later, he tried to cheer her up. “We’ll find him a plant or something. Plants are nice, right?”

“Plants are fine. We’ll have to get a lot of fancy ones to please my mother, but they’ll do.” She leaned on her arm, propped on the edge of the car’s window. She’d not even pestered John to let her drive today. 

“Are you feeling all right?” he shouted over the engine.

“I’m fine,” Rose insisted. “I wish everyone would stop asking me that.”

“You just don’t seem like yourself today.”

Rose rolled her eyes, but didn’t have the energy to say anything snarky, nor the desire to direct such a comment at John. “It’s like I said, I’m tired of this whole business with Sir James. Every time I think Mum’s given up on him as a potential husband, she goes fawning all over him again.”

“I didn’t think she was ‘fawning’ this morning, just looking at her social responsibilities.”

“That was this morning, you don’t hear her when it’s just the two of us. If it’s not Sir James, it’s some other man. It’s every other man. Robert Curbishley, Francesco Calvierri, Oliver Morgenstern…” Rose trailed off, staring out the window. “I’m sorry. You probably don’t want to hear about all them.”

“No, no, that’s okay. You can always talk to me. About whatever you want.”

“It’s not weird for me to talk to you about other men who might be after my affections?” Her tone was teasing, but it didn’t quite reach her face.

By then they’d reached town, and John parked the car, shutting down the engine so they could speak properly. “Honestly, Rose, it probably will be. I’m not going to like any of them, and I’m going to hate it whenever they keep us from spending time together, and I can’t promise I won’t be rude. But they’re going to be part of your life, which I care about, so I want to hear about them even if it’s weird.” He ran his hand through his hair and sighed. 

“I’m sorry.” She reached across the seat and squeezed his hand. 

“It’s okay. This is what we signed up for.” He got out of the car, strode around to open her door, and then got on with their errands. Mostly it was picking out things for the house, but they did order a mass of hydrangeas to have sent over to Peckham Hall. Now that both of them were decidedly in a funk, the morning passed in a molasses-thick quiet that lasted until they got back to the House and went about their day separately for the first time in weeks.

***

John slumped into his desk chair and rubbed at his eyes. After a strained luncheon he was finally getting around to his correspondence, the large stack of letters that had arrived that morning. Lance Bennett actually did send over some information on the investments he was promoting, and it was unimpressive, so John tossed it aside. More important was the reply he’d received from Jenny and Vastra, indicated by Jenny’s neat handwriting on the envelope.

> _Dear John,_
> 
> _We were happy to receive your letter after your visit with us ended so abruptly. Please remember that you are welcome at our home any time, and that you needn’t wait for something in the house to break to make an excuse._
> 
> _As for your request, we were able to make a few queries but unfortunately did not turn up much more on Sir James Stone or H.C. Clements than you already know. We were, pardon the pun, stonewalled at every attempt to get closer to the source of their money or find details on who else might be working with them. We did learn that H.C. Clements is more than likely a subsidiary of a company called Torchwood, but the only name we found associated with Torchwood was Yvonne Hartman, who only seems to exist on paper._
> 
> _We also spoke to a Ms. River Song who says she may know some things, but she deduced that we were asking on your behalf and said she would only speak to you directly. She says she will be attending an upcoming party at Peckham Hall and hopes to see you there._
> 
> _We will let you know if we find anything new, but please keep in touch, John. We worry for you and hope that you are doing well._
> 
> _All the best,  
>  Jenny  & Vastra_

John sighed and set down the letter. River, of all people, would be in Bucknall next week. It did not sit well, and he wondered if he could pretend to be ill in order to get out of the party. He could talk with River outside of the gathering to draw less attention, and then he wouldn’t have to see Rose endure a parade of eligible bachelors or listen to thinly veiled insults about his station.

But then Rose would be stuck at the party without him, and from what he could tell, Sir James was still interested in her, even if she was sick of his advances. And River was incredibly clever, she'd figure out Rose's importance very quickly, especially if Reinette told her, or heaven forbid, attended the party herself. That unpleasant situation was, he reasoned, an all-too-probable situation, and if it did come to pass he'd rather be there to run interference than just let things happen. On top of all that, Lord Powell would be keen to introduce him to _his_ friends and associates, who would no doubt also be there, and John did not want to disappoint the man. 

John resolved that he would go to the party, but he would write to River ahead of time to outline his terms. They would discuss things in private, without an audience, and she would leave the Tylers alone. He knew nothing about her - not if she was old money, or married, or had a career of her own; only that she was a friend of Reinette and liked to be in control. It wasn't that he disliked her, he just didn't know her well enough to tell if she was trustworthy. He couldn't ignore River, he just had to be cautious. So he pulled out a fresh sheet of paper, and started writing.

***

Rose spent the week leading up to Sir James' party in a fog, too tired to give anything her full attention and too discouraged to try. John was always busy, she had her own obligations, and her brother was always keen to do something fun, something she didn't have to put too much mental effort into.

Party preparations contrived continued though, almost as if the event was in their own home. Rose absently agreed to her mother's suggestion about what dress to wear, some gold thing she never would have chosen for herself. On the day of the party, she barely registered Gwen doing her hair, her father helping her into the car, the ride to Peckham Hall. She even dozed a little on the way over, only schooling her features in the moments before Strax stopped the car. 

Sir James had, unsurprisingly, spared no expense for this party. Wine and cocktails flowed freely while the guests mingled, and then there were seated at an enormous long table for a staggeringly large meal. Rose lost count of how many courses there were. Everyone was mixed together, for the most part sitting next to people they didn’t know, Rose plastering on a smile so she could make polite conversation. Occasionally she eyed her parents or friends along the table and hoped they, at least, were genuinely enjoying themselves. They seemed to be, though Martha, who Mickey had brought along, looked both annoyed and uncomfortable, and John was rambling so much that Rose knew he was nervous. Were they close to dessert yet? She couldn’t tell. The footmen were bringing round another savoury dish; the butler pouring yet more wine. She wished she was sitting closer to a friend, or even her mother, and quaffed her wine rather quickly to get her mind off of it. 

When the meal finally disbanded, Rose’s head was buzzing and her mood was no better. She’d been sitting near some egotistical blowhards all night and really just needed some peace and quiet, but now there was a band in the Great Hall, a dance floor starting, and port and cigars being handed out. Rose politely turned down offers to dance and managed to find her way over to Martha. 

“If I didn’t like Sir James before, this is certainly cementing it,” Martha muttered. “I haven’t even talked to the man but his friends are atrocious. I’ve never been more condescended to in my life.” 

“What happened?” Rose asked.

“None of them found it remotely plausible that I would be studying medicine,” she explained. “And that was just what they said to my face, I’ve heard the remarks behind my back about being a black woman and stepping out of line.” Martha’s brow furrowed and Rose saw her consciously relax her grip on her glass, lest she shatter the crystal. “Mickey doesn’t even seem to notice that they don’t take him seriously either. I don’t know why we came.”

“Oh, he knows,” said Rose. “He’s just gotten very good at pretending. Lets them think they have the upper hand, gets all the dirt that way. Then when they come ‘round to buy cars he can sell them all the extra features they don’t really need much easier.” They laughed, and Rose continued. “It does still bother him. He used to get really angry about it, but he’s chosen to just work hard and be the best at what he does. I’m sure if you want he’ll talk to you about it.”

“Later, perhaps.” She sighed. “I knew all this would happen, I saw everything my family went through.”

“I’m sorry, Martha. If there’s anything I can do…”

She shook her head. “College was just such a nice little world where we all loved and supported each other though, wasn’t it? None of this racist, sexist nonsense.”

“Hear hear,” Rose said, and they clinked glasses. “If I had a pound for every person I deal with who insists on talking to Dad or John and completely ignoring me, I could pay for all the renovations in Bucknall House twice over.” 

After venting with Martha a bit more, they found Keisha and Shareen and took over a few couches in a parlour, shutting out the rest of the party for as long as they could.

***

John had never felt more disconcerted in his life. Everyone was watching him, he was sure of it. Perhaps it was that he was a new face, but a growing part of his brain told John that they were trying to figure out where they knew him from. At the same time, he was doing the same with every other guest at the party. Sir James had brought Lynda again, River was there as promised, and Reinette was there too. The women were the obvious sources of surveillance, but every now and then there was a voice that sounded familiar, or a particular stance or gait or jawline that reminded John of a client and he’d jump, do a double-take, hide in a doorway. He had to get out of there. He wondered if Rose might want to go home, but couldn’t find her anywhere.

Instead, there was River. John supposed he couldn’t put it off any longer, so he acquiesced when she invited him out onto the terrace. 

“Hello, sweetie,” she purred, walking her fingers up his chest. “Have you been surviving without me?”

“Quite, Ms. Song.” John took a step back. “Tell me what you know.”

“Right down to business, okay then.” River leaned against the railing and lit a cigarette, tossing her hair back over her shoulders. “Clements doesn’t have a damn thing to do with locksmiths. They’re a front for the Versailles and a few other businesses, making Stone’s profits look legitimate.”

“Money laundering,” John said.

“Precisely. The investments are a distraction, only profitable on paper. The real returns come from the Versailles and the drugs,” she said, gesturing with the hand that held her cigarette. She took a long drag and exhaled a few rings of smoke. “I suppose a few of them might actually make some money, but it’s mostly patent medicines and useless gadgets. If they find a decent product it’s through sheer luck.”

“And where does Torchwood fit into all this?”

“I have no idea.”

“River…”

“I’m serious, John. I’ve only heard the name a few times, associated with a Yvonne Hartman. Apparently she runs it but I’ve never met her and I don’t know anyone who has. They might be another fake company, I don’t know.” 

John ran his hand through his hair and leaned his hands on the railing. “One more question. How do you know all of this?”

River smiled, that slow, languid thing that only made her more infuriating. “A girl’s got to have _some_ secrets.” She stubbed out her cigarette on a stone finial and swished her way back inside, leaving John to ponder this information. He shook his head. It was too late to be parsing it all out, he’d best get back. 

He wandered from room to room, making quick scans of the place in search of Rose, Lord Powell, even Mickey would do. Just someone he knew, someone safe. He found Rose eventually, one of two blonde heads peeking up from a sofa. John made his way over, only to stop short when he saw that Rose was deep in conversation with Reinette Poisson.

***

Rose wasn’t entirely sure how she ended up talking to the gorgeous blonde Frenchwoman, but someone introduced them and she joined Rose and her friends on the couches. Slowly the others wandered off to dance or speak to someone else, and soon it was just the two of them.

“Forgive me if you’ve said already, but how do you know Sir James?” Rose asked. 

“He’s made a number of investments in my business. I run a private supper club in the City,” she said. 

Rose snorted back a laugh. “That’s funny, he’s usually trying to get other people to make investments. I’ve rarely seen him spend any of his _own_ money on anything. Except this party, perhaps. And even then I’m not so sure.”

Reinette laughed, airy and almost twinkling. “You’re right, he has been quite focussed on recruiting others as of late.” She took a sip of her drink - champagne, exclusively champagne all night, Rose had noticed - and continued. “I believe we are both also acquainted with John Smith?”

“That’s right. He works for my family, as the agent of our estate. He’s around here somewhere…”

“I thought I saw him! He’s a dear friend, but I’ve not been able to flag him down for a chat tonight.” 

“How long have you known him?”

“Almost ever since he came to the City, so five, six years, perhaps? He came to work for me at the club and was such a star, so many customers came back just to see him. We miss him terribly.” Reinette was practically purring and Rose wanted to vomit. “I’m so glad to hear he’s doing well here, though. John was such a lonely young man when he came to us.”

Rose arched an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“Oh yes. He’d left home and been on his own travelling for a few years, but even before that he was not very happy. He had such a sad childhood. A brilliant mind, but all his opportunities stolen away - tragic, really. But I’m sure you know all this.”

“Of course,” Rose mumbled into her glass. She changed the subject, something about the renovations at Bucknall House, and struggled to find a way out of the conversation. Her rescue came in the form of Reinette lighting up at someone who’d come to stand behind Rose.

“John! We were just talking about you.” 

Rose looked over her shoulder and there was John, hair askew and hands jammed in his pockets. “Were you now? All good things, I hope!” 

“Naturally. Lady Rose was telling me about the wonderful work you’ve been doing at her home.”

“She flatters me, I’m sure,” John said. “Are you done with your drink, my lady?”

“Yes, but I’m fine, thank you-” Rose was cut off by John taking her empty glass and setting it on a side table, replacing it with his own hand. 

“I was hoping you would join me for a dance,” he said, already tugging her up before she could respond. 

“It was lovely to meet you,” Rose said as John pulled her to the dance floor, where the band was playing something mid-tempo. “John, I’m not really in the mood for dancing.”

“Sorry, couldn’t help myself. I love this song,” he said, raising their joined hands and settling his other one on her waist. 

“Oh yeah? What’s it called?”

“I have no idea.” He flashed his manic grin, and Rose couldn’t help but laugh. “I just wanted you to myself for a little while,” he said, lowering his voice. “It’s been too long.”

“I know,” Rose murmured, staring at where her fingers disappeared over the curve of his shoulder. The band changed to something slow, and Rose felt John’s fingers flex against her back. She fought the urge to step closer into his arms and looked him in the eye. “Reinette seems to know a lot about you,” she said coolly. 

John’s posture stiffened. “We used to work together quite closely.”

“So she said.” 

“Look, whatever she told you-” 

“It’s not about what she told me. It’s about what you _haven’t_.” John looked bewildered and Rose sighed. “I know we’ve gotten close, John, but I still feel like I hardly know anything about you. I’d like to hear about how you grew up, your family, your travels…”

He looked at their feet. “You might not like it.”

“And you don’t like hearing about the men trying to court me,” she retorted. “But I care about you, and your life, so I want to hear about it. Sound familiar?”

“Perhaps.” His smile now was a wry, crooked one. “It’s a deal. But can we start tomorrow? It’s late, and I think your mum needs to go home.” John inclined his head to the side, where Lady Powell was leaning heavily on her husband, still chattering a mile a minute even if she did look like she was about to fall asleep. 

Rose laughed. “Yes, I think you’re right.”

They left the dance floor and rejoined Rose’s parents, made their farewells and waited for Strax to bring the car around. Lady Powell kept talking the whole drive home - evidently she’d had a _wonderful_ time at the party, and Sir James _adored_ the hydrangeas, Rose and John had made _such_ a good choice - and Rose, John, and Lord Powell kept smirking at each other until Lord Powell got her upstairs to their bedroom. 

Before John and Rose could part on the landing, he told her, “Meet me in the tower tomorrow night, around 1 AM. Dress warmly.”

“One in the morning?!”

“Trust me. You’ll love it.” He smiled broadly and kissed her cheek. “Good night, my lady.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not keeping you waiting on the late-night rendezvous! This chapter is basically just fluff. Let's get to it!

John had said to dress warmly, so Rose put on a long nightdress and a thick dressing gown, and after she was sure everyone was asleep, made her way to the tower.

“Oh good, you’re here!” John bounded from his perch by the window and took Rose’s hand as she emerged from the staircase, tugging her up the last few steps into a hug. 

“Of course I am,” Rose laughed. “If you’ve got something to show me, I want to see it, even if it is after midnight.” 

John was giddy with excitement, a state that was quickly becoming one of Rose’s favourites. “Right this way, my lady.” 

He made a grand gesture and Rose rolled her eyes. “What did I say about calling me that?” she teased.

“Not to do it,” John said. “But sometimes it’s fun to say. Up we go.”

“Wait, up?” Rose realised that John was showing her to an A-frame ladder that was sticking up through a trap door in the ceiling. “As in the roof?”

“Yep! Best place to see it. Well, best place around here anyway. There are probably better vantage points elsewhere in the world, even in the country, but this’ll do just fine.” He tugged his ear. “Do you want me to hold the ladder while you go first, or help you at the top? It is pretty flat up there.”

Rose jostled the ladder and found it pretty secure, and she figured she could manage. “Help me at the top, I don’t know about that roof.”

John climbed the ladder and steadied it from above, watching the breeze sift through Rose’s hair as she came through the trapdoor. She held onto his shoulders and he guided her the rest of the way out with his hands on her waist, eagerly awaiting her reaction. It was a new moon and there was very little to see by, but he could make out her features by the light streaming in from the hatch and the little torch he’d left out on the roof - and she gasped. 

The turret had a conical roof that sloped down to a narrow, flat section around the edge before a crenellated battlement that decorated the top of the tower. It was in that flat area that John had put the torch and spread out some tartan blankets. Rose made it onto roof and slowly slipped out of John’s grasp, towards the blankets, eyes darting between them and the sky.

“Oh John, it’s beautiful,” she breathed, daring to look over the edge at the garden. 

“Yeah,” he murmured, not taking his eyes off her. “Come sit, I brought tea. And some of those biscuits you like. Don’t tell Mrs. Grant that I nicked them.” 

They settled down and Rose pulled one of the blankets over their laps. Despite how close they’d become, John still shivered when Rose’s knee brushed his, and had to try not to drop the flask of hot tea when he passed it to her and their fingers touched. He chided himself for blushing like a schoolboy, and hoped it was too dark for Rose to see it.

“So,” Rose said, “rooftop picnic. I like it.”

“That’s not all, Rose Tyler,” John said, grinning, and glad for the distraction. “Look at the sky, just… over…. there.” He pointed about halfway up from the horizon, off in the distance, and she saw them: pinpricks of light, streaming across the sky, shining trails in their wake.

“There’s hundreds of them!” she exclaimed. 

“It’s the Perseid meteor shower,” he said, shifting and leaning in closer. “The Earth passes through the tail of a comet, and all those shooting stars are tiny grains of sand and dust falling through the atmosphere at incredible speed and burning up. And this is only the start, we’ll see more of them coming in an hour or two.”

“It’s incredible,” Rose said, taking her eyes off the show only for a moment. “Thank you.”

Her breath ghosted over his cheek and he couldn’t help kissing her. “My pleasure,” he managed to get out when Rose pulled back. They turned back to the sky and watched the meteors in silence for a while, sharing the tea and biscuits, occasionally exclaiming over a particularly bright trail. 

“I’ve never been that good with stars,” Rose remarked finally. “I can pick out the Big Dipper but that’s about it.”

“Really?”

“Not even Orion. Everyone can find it but I’m always stumped.”

“Well, he’s not coming out until right before dawn, but I’ll show you in winter. He’s easy to see then. How about Cassiopeia?”

“I’ve never even heard of that one.”

“Never heard of Cassiopeia?! Oh, the queen would be disappointed to find that out. She’s right over there, close to where it looks like the meteors are coming from,” John explained. “Five bright stars, forming kind of a W. See?”

He was pointing but Rose still seemed puzzled. “I don’t- no. Where are you even pointing?”

“Here. Shift up a little.” Rose complied and John moved behind her, settling his legs on either side of hers and resting his chin on her shoulder. He took her hand in his and aimed it at the constellation. “There.” 

“I see it!” Rose exclaimed. She moved their joined hands over where she saw the proper stars, and turned back to John, beaming. He kissed her and told her the story of Cassiopeia, how the vain queen had boasted that she was more beautiful than even the sea nymphs and was punished for it by being placed in the sky. 

They spent over an hour like that, John leaning back against the roof, Rose settled against his chest, watching the meteors while John pointed out more constellations and stars and told Rose their stories. The tea and biscuits ran out, and John’s voice trailed off, leaving just his soft breathing dancing over Rose’s ear. 

“How do you know all of this?” she asked.

“Both of my parents were teachers. Anything I wanted to learn about, they’d encourage it,” he explained. “My village was small, but it had a wonderful library. I loved the stars, and they had this book, an atlas of the night sky, they called it. I borrowed it so many times that eventually the librarian let me keep it. And I guess I never stopped wanting to know more about space.” John pulled Rose closer as he continued. “My parents even saved up and got me a telescope for Christmas when I was eleven. I wanted to go to university for astronomy.”

“Why didn’t you?”

John let out a long breath. “When my parents died, Irving - my brother - did everything he could to keep us together. But I… I fell apart.” He shook his head, letting his nose rub against Rose’s hair. “I managed for a little while, was far enough ahead already that I probably could have just taken the final exams early, but I just didn’t care anymore. Dropped out of school when I was sixteen, worked in town for a while, then left. At that point I just had to get away.” John felt her hands squeeze his arms reassuringly. “That was ten years ago. Haven’t looked back since.”

“What did you do when you left?”

“Oh, this and that. Just went from place to place, helping people out where I could. Eventually ended up in the City, worked a few places there, then I met Reinette, through an old boss. Later she hired me and I worked for her a couple of years before I came here.” John felt his stomach turn as he carefully edited this part of his history. “I’ve been in Bucknall for more than two years now.”

“I’m glad for that,” Rose said, snuggling back against him and pulling one of the blankets up to her chin. “But I bet you’d still be a great astronomer.”

“Thanks.” 

They got quiet again, and still, only occasionally adjusting their positions or commenting on a particularly bright meteor. Soon, John felt Rose growing slack in his arms, and leaned his head around to see her eyelids drooping. Coaxing her up, he gently guided her back down the ladder and walked her down the stairs. At the bottom she pulled him to her so she was backed against the wall, hands gripping his hips, encouraging him to kiss her breathless. 

"I thought you were falling asleep," he murmured against her lips.

"I was," she said, tugging him closer, pressing into his pelvis. He bit back a groan and tightened his fist in her hair. "But I had to say goodnight properly."

He hummed against her mouth, tried to make sure he was using the rough stones of the wall for support rather than her delicate frame. "So we've been saying goodnight wrong all this time?"

"Yes," she breathed, then stifled a yawn. "Sorry. It's late."

"Yeah," John said, and they reluctantly parted. 

“Thank you, John. For showing me the meteor shower, and telling me about yourself,” she said, stroking his cheek.

“You’re welcome. And thank you for listening. It felt better than I thought it would,” he admitted. "Good night, Rose."

"Good night, John." And with that, and one more kiss, she slipped away and back to her room. In a few moments, once he'd composed himself, John went back to his.

***

It was time for tea with a Nice Young Man yet again. Rose knew her mother was in the parlour’s little anteroom, listening in on everything, as she had for the last half-dozen meetings she’d set up in the past fortnight. Rose felt they all blurred together, and wondered if she ought to start taking notes. Already she’d embarrassed herself by forgetting that she’d met Roger Curbishley at a dinner once before. Then again, Lady Powell was probably keeping records of her own. Rose wondered if her mother would let her look at them.

Today was a Mr. Strackman Lux, who was running a philanthropic literary and historical trust founded by his grandfather. Normally, Rose might have found such an endeavour fascinating, but Mr. Lux was able to make seeking out rare manuscripts sound like a mere _job_. Rose questioned him about the exploration, the adventure - but he only talked about dates and titles, listings and catalogues, Rose was not unhappy to see him go, and took to the library once he’d left. 

Her mother joined her shortly. “Well, he’s nice, isn’t he?”

“Sure,” Rose said, “like a bowl of plain porridge. Perfectly fine and not remotely interesting.”

Lady Powell sighed as she sat across from her daughter. “Can’t win them all, I suppose.”

“Mmm.”

“Rickston Slade said he might be in the area next week, we could invite him ‘round.”

“Mum, could we take a break from the matchmaking for a while? There’s just so much to do around the estate these days, between that and all these meetings it’s really wearing me out,” she said. Rose was hoping this appeal would go over more smoothly than a flat-out refusal to see anyone further.

“I suppose,” Lady Powell said. “You’ve really not got on with anyone you’ve met lately?”

“It’s less that, more that I can’t imagine marrying any of them. Some I’d be happy to be friends with, or even business partners, but I get the sense they’d be disappointed in that.”

“If you tried, maybe met them again-”

“Mum,” Rose interrupted, “I’m not saying I’d not meet with them, but that I know they’d be coming to it with an eye for marriage and I wouldn’t. If they were interested in just getting to know each other, perhaps that would be okay, and maybe sometime down the line, we might fall in love. Or we might not. And either way would be okay. I just don’t know that any of these men are thinking the same way.” She was trying to sound positive about the whole thing, for her mother’s sake, but it was hard when she knew that a big reason for her disinterest was who these men _weren’t_. 

“Love, Rose?”

“You and Dad married for love.”

“And now the only family I have that still speaks to me are your Uncle Henry and batty Cousin Monique,” Lady Powell said.

“Are you saying that if I fell in love with someone you and Dad didn’t like, you’d stop speaking to me?!” Rose was incredulous. This was _not_ what she expected from her mother.

“No, of course not! But it _is_ important that you marry well, for the sake of the estate at least, and others may not be as kind as your father and I.” She reached out and took her daughter’s hand. “I just want you to be happy, Rose. Secure, safe and happy, after your dad and I are gone and can’t take care of you.”

Rose smiled and fought back some tears. “I know, Mum. I appreciate that.” She got up and sat on the settee next to her mum, and they embraced tightly. “But you two aren’t going anywhere any time soon, and I know that taking care of Bucknall will always make me happy. Let’s just see who life will bring me, okay?”

Lady Powell nodded and dabbed at her eyes. “All right. But if I hear of someone I think you’ll like, I’m going to ask if you’d like to have them over.”

“Fine,” Rose laughed. “I think I can work with that, as long as you downplay the marriage angle.”

“It’s a deal,” Lady Powell said, and she and Rose shook on it before bursting into giggles.

***

Rose found John in his workshop late one afternoon, bent over his workbench with his shirtsleeves rolled up, and asked if he’d be coming back up to the House for dinner that night.

“Of course I am,” he said, pushing a pair of safety goggles up his forehead. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, you missed lunch,” she said.

“Did I?!” Bewildered, he pulled off his work gloves to check his watch. “Blimey, I did. I’m so sorry, I was so wrapped up in things out here-”

Rose laughed. “It’s okay! That’s what I thought, so I asked Mrs. Grant to put something together for you.” She held up a small basket and set it down on the worktop. 

“Oh Rose, you’re brilliant.” John pulled out a flask of tea, a few sandwiches, and some fruit. “Thank you so much. Please, sit.” He ran around clearing up some papers and finding another chair, and Rose sat with him while he ate.

“What are you working on?” she asked.

“Mmm. It’s for the icebox, I think I can make it work more efficiently. Better insulation, mostly, but if I can get the air to circulate it’ll cool more evenly, and- I’ve lost you.”

“Hm? No, sorry, I get it. Just this caught my eye.” She pulled a folder off the stack on the table. “H.C. Clements, that’s Sir James’s company.”

John nodded. “Lance Bennett keeps pestering me to get your dad to invest in it. Well, more than he already has, anyway. He sent me that, it’s not very impressive.”

Rose flipped through the pages with a frown. “Doesn’t look like it. Mr. Bennett keeps bothering Mickey about it too. I’m surprised the man’s stuck around so long with all this rejection.”

“He’s been taking Donna out,” John said.

“Still?” Rose exclaimed. “Are they that serious?”

“Seems so. I don’t like it, but she says he’s good to her, and now she’s mad at me.”

Rose sat up. “You didn’t _tell_ her that, did you?”

“I just said I found it strange! She was so uninterested in the _idea_ of him, then he showed up,” John complained. “After I met him, I thought there was no way she’d keep seeing him, but evidently she’s much more impressed with the man than we are.”

“Well, of course she’s upset, you’re her friend and she probably feels like you’re not happy for her.”

“She thinks she’ll have security with him. But if this is how he manages money, it won’t last,” John said, gesturing uselessly at the investment proposal with his sandwich. “I’m glad she’s happy, but I don’t want her to get hurt.”

“Getting hurt is how we learn,” Rose said gently. “As friends we can just be there, be supportive.”

“I know. Believe me, I know. I just don’t want it to be like this - because of H.C. Clements or anyone associated with them. They’re bad news altogether, not just a bad investment.”

Rose was puzzled. “What makes you say that?”

“Oh, erm, a hunch, really. Just a feeling, from all I’ve seen of Mr. Bennett and Sir James.”

She nodded. “They’re off-putting to me, too. Maybe Gwen and I could talk to Donna. Woman to woman.” Rose smiled coyly. “We’ve been trying to find out about Mr. Bennett from her for a while now, actually.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes, ever since he showed up, since I don’t trust him either. Haven’t found out much, though.” They were quiet for a moment. “And you should apologise to Donna.”

“Apologise?!”

“Yes. For being rude, even if you are right. But don’t say it like that. And if it all goes pear-shaped, you can’t say ‘I told you so,’” she said. “Just be her friend. Besides, the more you let her talk about him, the more you’ll know about what kind of things he’s getting up to.”

“Yeah, all right. I’ll apologise. You give such good advice, Rose Tyler.”

“It’s not free, you know,” she teased, tongue in her teeth.

“Is that so? What’s the going rate for Rose Tyler Advice these days?” John asked, putting down his lunch and rounding the table.

“I’m open to hearing offers,” she said, looking up at John as he rested his hands on the arms of her chair and leaned in.

“Would this be acceptable?” John ducked down and kissed her sweetly, shivering as she slipped a hand around his back and under his waistcoat.

She hummed against his lips. “It’ll do for now. I’ve got to get back.”

“I’ll deliver the balance to you later, then,” he said, stepping back and taking Rose in his arms when she stood. 

“I know you’re good for it.” She kissed him again and reluctantly pulled away, calling from the door, “Don’t forget about dinner! And apologise!”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John promises Donna he won't burn the House down. Rose is surprised and does some surprising. Jack is surprised too, for different reasons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't forget that it's Wednesday, I swear! Okay, maybe I did. But I was travelling today! Besides, it's not even dark here in Nanaimo yet. Anyway, here's the new chapter, and I'm going to go back to stuffing my face with Nanaimo bars.

John found his experiment with refrigeration was a perfect excuse to spend a morning below stairs, though Mrs. Grant was unimpressed with his intrusion and chased him out of the kitchen. He ended up in the little courtyard by the service doors, taking apart an old icebox he’d dug out, and putting his new parts in. 

“I heard you were down here causing trouble.”

John started at Donna’s voice, and as he was leaning into the icebox at the time, hit his head on the side and swore. “Donna! Hello! How are you today?” He straightened up, rubbing the sore spot in his hair. 

She crossed her arms. “I’m all right. Just came to see what you’d done to annoy Mrs. Grant, since you haven’t done that in ages.”

“Suppose I haven’t,” he said. “I’m trying to improve this icebox. It’s an old one, which changes my plans somewhat since I based all this on the current model, but she won’t let me near that one.”

“Of course she won’t! Last time you brought some newfangled electric gadget in, you nearly burned the house down!”

“That was a _toaster_ , and I didn’t even build that, I bought it in town!”

“And you didn’t make any modifications to it, of course.”

She was taking the mick out of him and he let her - at least she was talking to him. “I’ll test this one outside then. Just for you.”

Donna laughed. “Good plan.” She looked down at her shoes.

John took a deep breath. “Donna… I wanted to say I’m sorry. That I was rude to you about Lance. You’re happy, and I was letting my concern get in the way of being happy for you.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

He smiled and Donna came over to hug him. “You’re like a sister to me, Donna, the closest thing to family I’ve got. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

Donna gave him one more squeeze. “I’ll be fine, Spaceman. But if anything happens, you’ll get second crack at him.”

“Second?”

“Yeah. After me, of course.”

He laughed. Donna Noble was a force to be reckoned with, after all. Shame on him if he forgot it again.

***

With such fine weather all summer, Rose and Lord Powell took to conducting their work outdoors, setting up an open-air office in a shady part of the terrace, just outside the library. John would join them regularly, and together they worked out leases, grain shares, and livestock decisions.

The sunshine brought Anthony outside quite often as well, dragging Clara out to the gardens. She was an inventive teacher, crafting lessons around whatever fascinated him that day, so the lad became quite the expert on insects, spiders, and different kinds of plants. When something stumped them, Anthony would race up the steps of the terrace and into the library to find the right book to help them out, Clara jogging along behind. Occasionally Anthony would bring some particularly interesting specimen over to show everyone - once Clara had reminded him to wait patiently and ask before interrupting, of course.

One afternoon was particularly busy, both for Anthony’s discoveries and estate work. Clara had tried to keep him from dashing over too often with his bugs and leaves and rocks, but it was of little use. 

“I’m so sorry,” she said, out of breath from yet another trip up the stairs. 

“Not at all,” Lord Powell said, offering Clara his chair. “Sit down a minute, have a glass of lemonade.”

John was already on the floor with Anthony, examining the feather he’d presented them with this time. He told Lord Powell to take his seat and listened to Anthony recite all he’d learned about birds, feathers, and flight. 

“You’re a saint, Miss Oswald,” Lord Powell said. “I’ve not met many teachers who could keep up with Anthony the way you do.”

“Thank you, my lord. I won’t lie, he’s a challenge sometimes, but he’s much more fun to teach than any student I’ve had before.”

“Have there been many?” Rose asked. “You seem so young!”

“I’m twenty-two,” Clara said. “I’ve taught at a few village schools, but Master Anthony is my first private pupil.”

“Miss Clara! John says he knows where to find the kind of bird this came from!” Anthony called. 

“Is that so?” Clara said.

“Can he come show us please?”

“Did you ask him?”

“I may have already offered,” John admitted. “If it’s okay with you, and Lord Powell and Lady Rose can spare me…”

“Go right ahead, we’ll be fine,” Lord Powell said. 

Anthony was already on his feet, grabbing John and Clara by their hands and pulling them away. They looked at Lord Powell and Rose with helpless smiles as they descended the terrace steps. 

“I’d like to have Miss Oswald join us for dinner,” Rose said. “She’s so lovely, but I feel like I hardly know anything about her.”

Her father nodded, watching the figures in the garden get smaller. “Tony’s quite taken with John, isn’t he?”

Rose was a little surprised at the change in topic. “Yes, he is. John knows a lot about building and machines, and you know how much Tony loves that stuff.”

“It’s more than that, though,” Lord Powell said. “John dotes on the boy, and Tony adores him.”

“John might very well have been a teacher himself, had his life gone differently,” Rose said, feeling a little defensive, unsure of where the conversation was going. “I _like_ how good he is with Tony. I wouldn’t want John around if he was unkind to him, or thought he was annoying. What are you smiling like that for?”

Lord Powell had developed a wide, knowing smirk as his daughter had spoken. “You’re rather fond of him.”

“Tony? He’s my brother, of course-”

“I meant John,” Lord Powell interrupted, and Rose shut her mouth with an audible click. “You care for him a great deal.” Rose tried to speak but her father raised a finger to stop her. “And he cares about you. I’m glad. He’s a good man, I want him to feel like part of our family.”

“You’re not concerned about anything… inappropriate?” Rose managed to get out.

Lord Powell raised an eyebrow. “Should I be?”

“You were when I went to college, all those town boys…”

“Who I didn’t know, and didn’t trust. And at that age?” He shook his head. “You’re an adult now, Rose. You know how to take care of yourself.”

Rose looked at her hands, smoothing a thumb over her cuticles. “Thanks, Dad.”

He got up and gathered his papers, dropping a kiss on Rose’s hair. “I’ve got a few phone calls to make before dinner. See you soon.”

***

John and Rose kept watching the meteors, until the peak of the shower had passed and the late nights began to show themselves at the breakfast table. Still, Rose asked John to come up to the tower for one more night.

" _I_ have a surprise for _you_ this time," she said, meeting him at the bottom of the tower stairs and taking his hands. "I got you something."

"Rose, you never have to get me anything," John protested as they headed up the stairs. 

"Still. A little bird told me it was your birthday tomorrow - well, today, technically." 

"Was this bird orange and named Donna, by chance?"

"Maybe," she laughed. 

"I was trying to forget about that."

"Too bad, Mrs. Grant knows all your favourites and she's making them for dinner. But that's not the point." They'd made it to the top. "This is."

Rose let John come up to the last stair and he stopped dead in his tracks. "A telescope? You got me a telescope?"

"I hope it's okay. I don't know much about them, I just ordered one that the catalogue said was good," Rose said, standing aside while John inspected his gift. 

"Rose, this is one of the best telescopes on the market today," he gushed. "At least, for amateurs. Advanced amateurs. Really advanced."

"Well, that's you, isn't it?"

John could only splutter. "I'm out of practice, I barely remember-"

"Then this will help."

"Rose, it's too much."

"Nonsense," she said. "It's not just from me, it's from Mum and Dad too. And Anthony wants lessons." She came close and twined her arms around his neck. "You deserve it, John." 

He could only shake his head and kiss her. "Thank you, Rose Tyler. Just... Thank you."

"You're welcome. Now show me the stars."

***

Much later, John and Rose finally decided to go to bed, lingering at the tower door before parting ways. John waited for Rose to close her door, as he often did, and was promptly accosted at his own bedroom.

“Jack! What are you doing up here?” John grabbed Jack by the arm and dragged him inside.

“Mr. Mott asked me to make the rounds, check that everything is okay. What are _you_ doing with Lady Rose at three in the morning?” the footman hissed once the door was shut. The men stared, daring the other to break. 

Eventually John mumbled, “Watching the meteor shower.”

“The _meteor shower_?” 

“Yes, the meteor shower, Jack, a wonderful astronomical event that I thought she’d be interested in. And she was. We’ve watched it almost every night for the past two weeks, and we’ve had a lovely time. Is that a problem?”

“Probably not, but it didn’t sound like you were _discussing astronomy_ on the other side of that door,” Jack snapped. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you could be in?”

As much as John wanted to revel in being the one to finally scandalise Jack Harkness, this was not the time. “I’m fully aware that our relationship would not be approved of by the general public, yes. Rose and I have discussed this.”

“Your _relationship_? And it’s just _Rose_ now, is it?”

“She gets mad if I use her title,” John protested, but Jack wasn’t hearing it. 

“John, this is a bad idea. A terrible idea. You’ve had some pretty bad ones in the past, but this one is probably the worst.”

“It’s not like it was on purpose.” John crossed his arms and walked to the other side of the room, staring out the window. “And she started it.”

“Oh no. _No_. You’re not- you don’t-” Jack joined his friend and set a hand on his shoulder, studying his face. “Shit. You are. You’re a goner. Arse-over-elbow in lo-”

“Don’t. Just don’t.” He ran a hand through his hair and collapsed onto his bed. “I haven’t even completely admitted it to myself yet. I don’t know where it’s going, it probably can’t even go anywhere anyway, but bloody hell, Jack-” At this, John jumped off the bed and started pacing in front of the armchair Jack had settled into. “-she’s just amazing. She’s smart, and kind, and beautiful and funny and sweet and- and she got me a _telescope_ , for my birthday. Do you know when the last time was anyone did anything that thoughtful for me? Because it was probably when I was a kid back in Gallifrey, I can’t even remember properly. She brings me books, and she listens to me, really _listens_ and actually wants to _know_ about where I’m from, and doesn’t look at me with pity when she hears all the crap I went through as a kid. It feels… She feels like home, Jack.”

Jack stayed put, leaning back in the armchair and steepling his fingers in front of him. “John, I’m glad you’re so happy, but… geez, man, you have _got_ to be careful with this.”

“I know, I know-”

“No, seriously, John,” Jack said. “It’s not just that you could lose your job. Lady Rose could be ruined too. And if you break her heart? This household, this _town_ adores her. You’ll wish you never even _heard_ of Bucknall.”

“I know. That’s the _last_ thing I want to have happen.”

“And what _do_ you want to happen? Is this just a fling for you two?”

“No! I mean, not for me, at least.”

“Then what kind of future do you see with her? Because from where I’m sitting, it sure as hell doesn’t look easy.”

John’s mind went blank. “I… I haven’t thought that far.”

“Might want to, before you go too far down that rabbit hole.” Jack yawned and caught a glimpse of the clock on John’s wall. “Might also want to go to bed. Bloody hell.” He stood up and clapped John on the shoulder. “Your secret’s safe with me, don’t worry. But be careful.”

John nodded as Jack left the room. Rubbing his hands over his face, he turned out the lights and crawled into bed, but didn’t fall asleep for a very long time.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday John! The celebration doesn't last, as the sharks circle closer and a new product has John concerned.

John spent his birthday exhausted and in varying states of embarrassment. After tossing and turning for most of the short time he spent in bed, he was greeted at breakfast with a round of hugs and handshakes - Lady Powell even kissed him on the cheek. Rose did too, maybe a bit longer than she should have, and John could almost feel her holding herself back. They both teased him for blushing so deeply. Anthony presented him with a hand-drawn card depicting himself and John on the moon, surrounded by several rather accurate constellations. When he got to his workshop later, John tacked it up in a place of honour over his desk. 

A card came from Jenny and Vastra in the post, and after lunch, Donna lured him down to the servants’ hall, where the staff surprised him with a little cake and a few small gifts. Mr. Mott even sat John down in his office for a drink from his personal stash.

“Mr. Mott, it’s not even three o’clock-”

“It’s your birthday, son, and I’ll toast you whenever I want. Sit.” John didn’t attempt to parse the butler’s logic and took a seat and his glass, clinking it with Mr. Mott’s. “Talk to me. You’re always working now, I’ve missed our chats.”

“It’s mostly just been work. I’m meeting with tenants regularly, planning things out, supervising the boys-”

“I know all about that. But what about _you_? How are you doing?”

John swallowed his next sip awkwardly and shook his head to get the burn out of his throat. “Tired. I’ve been running around a lot, and I didn’t sleep well last night. Lord Powell’s given me a lot of responsibility, and I appreciate it, but it still feels like it came out of nowhere. I still don’t know if I deserve it.”

“From all I’ve seen, you’ve been quite a success. I know _I’m_ impressed. Lord Powell seems to be too.”

“Thanks.”

“And personally? Are you finding time to enjoy yourself?”

John chuckled quietly to himself, gazing down at his shoes. If Mr. Mott only knew. “I suppose. I’ve been able to do a lot of reading lately. Master Anthony asks me to play with him pretty often, and Lady Rose has learned of my interest in astronomy. She got me a telescope.”

“That’s quite the gift!”

“I know. I told her it was too much, but she insisted it was from the whole family and that they really wanted me to have it. She gave it to me last night, so I have to act surprised when I open it in front of everyone else.”

Mr. Mott laughed. “That girl won’t be told no, that’s for sure. She’s something else, isn’t she?”

John felt himself turning red again. “That she is. I’m lucky to get to work with her.”

A ghost of a smirk played at Mr. Mott’s lips, and before long he and John finished their drinks and went back to work. “Keep up the good work, John,” Mr. Mott said. “We’d like to keep you around a while longer.”

***

The village fete approached as August reached its height, hot and sticky with few signs of letting up. Rose was volunteering on the planning committee, coordinating vendors and suppliers. She’d been specifically assigned the job, given that nobody could say no to her - at least according to her mother’s friend Beverley, who was heading up the committee with Lady Powell.

Rose had already made the rounds of the village securing donations and agreements, and now in the days before the event she made them again, John and Jack in tow, collecting flowers, banners, tables, and treats, loading them into the truck and bringing them out to the field. John’s boys and a few other volunteers were setting everything up under a scorching sun.

Outside the sweet shop, Jack helped load a crate of goodies and seemed to burst. “Have you given any thought to things with Lady Rose?”

John slammed the tailgate shut, glancing through the shop window. Rose was chatting with the proprietor, Mrs. Bailey, laughing at something he couldn’t hear. “You want to talk about this _now_?”

“When else? It’s not like I get to see you all that often anymore.” He joined John in leaning against the truck as they waited for Rose. “You should see yourself. You act like the sun’s walking around down here instead of roasting us from up there.”

“Unless you have any practical advice, Jack, I suggest you shut it,” John snapped, wiping the sweat from his brow and crossing his arms. He wished Rose would hurry up in there.

“Start doing some research into your family tree and see if you’re descended from royalty or something,” Jack said, “because that’s the only way I see this ending well for you.”

The bells on the shop door jingled and John was saved by Rose’s exit. “Thanks for waiting,” she said. “Here, Mrs. Bailey gave me these. I know they’re your favourite.” She handed him a white paper bag before climbing into the truck.

“Jelly babies! Fantastic!” John popped one in his mouth as he rounded the truck and got behind the wheel. He still didn’t miss Jack rolling his eyes at him. 

They trundled down the dirt road to the Cheems’ place to get a few more tables and tent poles, Rose up front between John and Jack. If she was aware of the tension between the two men, Rose didn’t let on, but John still clutched the wheel tightly as Rose engaged Jack in conversation. It was what she loved about her - how she could make anyone feel that they were important, their story worth telling - but since he’d been arguing with Jack, it just annoyed him.

Then there was a thump, and the truck shuddered, and John had to fight to pull them safely to the side of the road. 

“What was that?!” Rose exclaimed.

“Probably a flat tire,” John said, hopping out to inspect the vehicle.

“I think we’ve got more to worry about than that,” Jack called, pointing to where steam was pouring out of the bonnet. He got out and opened it up, waving the heat and vapour away from his face. 

Sure enough, the truck was overheated _and_ had a flat tire, leaving the trio stranded on an empty stretch of road with very little shade. John was able to put the spare tire on with few problems, Rose handing him tools, but the radiator was a different story.

“We don’t have any water, do we?” Rose asked. 

John shook his head, shaded his eyes with his hand, and scanned the horizon. “We’re still miles from town or the Cheems’. Or anything.”

Jack took off his hat to wipe his forehead. “Best start walking then. I’ll go, see if they can drive me back.” Rose got back in the truck where the was out of the sun, and Jack elbowed John in the ribs. “Don’t get up to anything funny while I’m away,” he said with a wink.

“Don’t,” John grumbled, leveling at glare at Jack’s retreating form. He hoped Rose hadn’t heard that, but she did.

“What was _that_ about?” she asked as John leaned against the open door.

“What was what about?”

“What Jack said before he left.”

John considered making something up, but couldn’t. “He knows. About us.”

“What? How?” Rose slid along the bench seat so she could grab John’s arm. 

“He saw us come down from the tower together the other night. The last night we watched the Perseids.” He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, frowning at how sweaty it was. “He promised he wouldn’t tell anyone, but…”

“But?”

“But, well, he’s Jack, so he’s going to tease me sometimes.” John smiled weakly. “And it’s made me think a lot about what we’re doing.”

“Do you think we should end it?” she asked, biting her lip.

“I don’t know. I didn’t really come to any conclusions. I certainly don’t _want_ to.”

“Me neither.”

 _But we might have to_ , John thought sadly. If she would agree on the basis of _her_ reputation, she wouldn’t have to find out about _his_. He could deal with Dorium and Reinette and everything else without worrying about Rose getting hurt. But he knew her feelings on the matter already - their class differences were never going to be a good enough reason for her.

Rose took his hand and pulled him back into the cab. Once he sat down she leaned into his side, resting her head on his shoulder. “We’ll figure it out. We have to,” she said. John stayed silent, stroking her thumb with his.

“Okay, question,” he finally said, and Rose looked up at him, concerned. He wanted to challenge her on her previous statement, how she could be so certain. But he couldn’t, so he went back to hypothetical questions, a favourite pastime of theirs. “Space travel or time travel?”

Rose grinned. “Why not both?”

They continued in this way until Jack returned over an hour later, driven by Jabe Cheem and bearing a large jug of water. With the engine cooled off they were able to complete their errands, and nobody spoke about what hung in the air until they approached the House that afternoon.

“Jack,” Rose said, turning to the footman, “John tells me you’re aware of our relationship. I’d like to thank you for your continued discretion in this matter. It means a lot to both of us.”

“Of course, my lady,” Jack said. “It’s not my place to speak of it.”

“Still, others might have, and I appreciate that you have not.”

By then they’d arrived at the front door, and Jack helped Rose down from the truck, then rejoined John for the trip to the garage. 

“You told her that I know?”

“She heard your little comment back there,” John grumbled. “I had to.”

“I’m guessing you still don’t know what you’re going to do.”

“No,” John growled, stopping where the path split, one way to the servants’ entrance, the other to the front door. “No, I don’t. She seems to think that everything will work out fine, and I can’t bring myself to disabuse her of that notion, nor can I see any way to prove her right. But I’m happy with her now, more than I’ve been in a long time, and I’m not willing to give that up just yet.”

Jack only looked at him solemnly before clapping him on the shoulder and turning his way. John sighed and trudged to the front door.

***

John had a rare night off later that week, that unfortunately did not coincide with any space in Rose’s schedule. Going over his accounts, he scraped together a little bit of money and went into the village, intending to see Dorium as quickly as possible.

The barman was a bit slow to respond to the sound of the bell on the door when John entered, wiping his face and looking startled.

“Johnny boy,” Dorium wheezed. “How nice to see you.”

“You look a bit… blue, Dorium,” John said. 

“I’m in a perfectly good mood, John.”

“No, I meant you actually look blue. Your skin looks blue.” John gestured around Dorium’s face, which was a pale, silvery blue, and beaded with sweat. “Is everything all right?”

“Like I said, never better. I’ve been taking this new tonic, Mr. Saxon just bought the company. Ganger’s Incredible Ultimate Vitality Remedy,” he said. “Here, let me show you.” Dorium ducked beneath the bar and emerged with a small bottle, decorated with an elaborate label. John pulled out his glasses and examined it wtih a frown.

“D’you mind if I take this with me?”

“Oh, go right ahead,” Dorium said. “I’ve got a case in back, going to try to sell it around town. Get your doctor friends to look at it. It’s worked wonders for me. I’ve got so much more energy, it’s like I can run a marathon every day...”

“Clearly,” John said, tucking the bottle in his pocket while Dorium continued explaining the various ailments the tonic could help with. He’d show it to Martha and Dr. Shaw all right, but he doubted the product would earn an endorsement. “Anyway, I came to make a payment on my account. I should have about the same amount next month.” 

Dorium rifled through the envelope John handed him and nodded appreciatively. “How’s the planning for the fete going?”

“Fine.”

“I would have a stall of my own, but there’s so much to do around here. Still, I’m told our interests will be well represented.”

The hair on the back of John’s neck stood up. “You mean _your_ interests.”

Dorium waved him off. “The company will have some people there. I’m sure they’ll have a wonderful time.”

“I’m sure they will.” 

John made his exit and, lacking anything else to do, went right over to the village surgery. 

“Can you tell me about what’s in this?” He plunked the bottle from Dorium in front of Dr. Shaw on her desk.

“Good afternoon to you too, John,” she said, not looking up from her paperwork. 

“Sorry. Hello.”

Dr. Shaw picked up the bottle and her eyes flitted over the label. “Martha, come here,” she called. “We’ve got another one.”

“Another one?” John asked as Martha entered from another room.

“You’re not taking this, are you?” Dr. Shaw asked.

“No, someone just gave it to me. They’ve been taking it for a while and they seem a bit…”

“Blue?”

“How did you know?”

“Collodial silver. Take enough of it, it’ll turn your skin blue. Main ingredient in this one, after alcohol, of course.” She popped the cap and took a sniff, wrinkling her nose. Martha followed suit. “I’d say really cheap gin, but who knows with all the other nonsense in there.”

“You’ve seen this stuff before?”

“Patent medicines,” Martha said. “Not that they have actual patents-”

“Nor are they actual medicines,” Dr. Shaw interjected.

“They just get endorsements from celebrities and socialites. There are a few others circulating around town. We don’t prescribe any of them, but the pharmacy has at least half a dozen in stock. Evidently they sell well.” Martha pulled a box out of a cabinet that held a variety of simliar bottles with equally bombastic packaging, and a bundle of fliers for the same. “Mind if we add this one to the collection?”

“Yeah, sure,” John said, looking at some of the other bottles. “These hardly list any ingredients on them.”

“That’s why we’re collecting them,” Martha said. “Bit of a side project, figuring out what’s in these things. Mostly they’re just alcohol with a little bit of herbs and roots. But some of them are really dangerous.”

“Huh. Interesting.” John put an empty _Vital Excellence Vitamin Essences_ bottle back in the box.

“That one actually is,” Dr. Shaw said, taking it from him. “It’s one of the few that seems to have some really beneficial effects, and nothing dangerous in it. Unfortunately it tastes terrible, so nobody buys it.”

“Probably because there isn’t any booze in it,” Martha laughed. “But yeah, the pharmacy stopped ordering more from lack of sales.”

John thanked the women for their help and left the office. More interesting to him were the names he’d seen stamped on quite a few of the labels, often in small, artful lettering - _H.C. Clements, a division of Torchwood, Inc._


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the fete! Some interesting guests participate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.

The day of the fete was clear and marginally less hot than the weeks before. The village green was abuzz with activity from the very start, as folks setting up gave way to patrons and laughing children running between the stalls. After checking on everything, Rose made her way to the picnic tent with her clipboard, already flushed. 

“Everyone seems to be in place, though I’m already hearing murmurs about the Cassinis’ crochet… Mum!”

Lady Powell had snatched the clipboard from her daughter’s hands. “You’ve done quite enough work already putting this together, Rose, go enjoy yourself.” Rose tried to protest but her mum and Beverley shooed her away. “Go find your brother, make sure he isn’t eating too many pies.”

Rose wandered the green and caught sight of her brother and father trying to toss rings over the necks of milk bottles. Smiling, she took another path, unable to resist checking in with almost every stall, even if it was unofficially.

John was just around the next corner, and his face split into a wide grin when he saw her. Rose felt her stomach flip and returned the smile, tongue in her teeth.

“Making your rounds, Lady Rose? I trust the coconuts are all in order?”

“I’ve actually been forbidden from working today, but I don’t think it would hurt to take a look,” she replied. They strolled down the row of stalls to the coconut shy, which took much longer than usual due to everyone they had to stop and say hello to.

“Well, it looks good, but I think you ought to test it out, just to be sure,” Rose said. John was already handing his money over to the barker. 

“Quality control, of course. I’ll have you know, though, I used to be a dab hand at cricket.” He made a show of stretching his throwing arm and taking aim with his first ball.

“You think you’re so impressive,” she teased.

“I am so impressive!” As promised, he knocked over three coconuts in quick succession. He tossed his prize coconut in the air and caught it one-handed so he could present it to Rose with a flourish. “My lady.”

“Why thank you, Mr. Smith.” Rose accepted the coconut with a giggle and tucked it under her arm. 

They found Martha and Mickey before long and spent the afternoon playing all the games and eating far too many sweets and pies. They sat on the green and cheered for Anthony in the egg-in-spoon race, and applauded the Sunday school children’s play. Rose would have been happy spending the day with just those three, but as she and Martha waited for John and Mickey to fetch some lemonade, she had to confront the social business that came along with the gathering.

Sir James and a few other men came into the picnic tent and approached Rose and Martha’s table. “Lady Rose! How nice to see you. I’m told you had a hand in organising this splendid day.”

“Thank you, Sir James. I’m glad you’re enjoying it.” She schooled her features into her most formal expression. “You remember my friend Martha Jones?”

“Of course. Good to see you Miss Jones.” Sir James barely looked at Martha.

“Who are your friends?” Rose asked, glancing at the men loitering behind him. She recognised Lance Bennett, but the other two were unfamiliar. They wore similarly expensive suits to Sir James’s, out of place for a day in the country. 

“Business partners of mine,” he said, gesturing them over. “Mr. Harold Saxon, and Mr. Joshua Naismith, from Archangel Telegraph.”

“And Telephone. Got to stay with the times, of course.” said Mr. Naismith, shaking Rose and Martha’s hands. He was older than Sir James and Mr. Saxon, dark-skinned with an unsettling grip. Mr. Saxon, however, pale and blonde and unnaturally polished, made Rose’s skin crawl before he even said hello. He had a politician’s smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. 

“A pleasure,” Mr Saxon said. “Excuse me, ladies.” He wandered out of the tent without another word, while the other men sat down.

John and Mickey returned and there was some polite, if stilted, conversation about Archangel and the like. Rose vaguely wondered where Mr. Saxon had gotten to, but Sir James, Mr. Bennett, and Mr. Naismith didn’t seem concerned, so she didn’t mention it. It was a relief, then that Anthony came running over, nearly bowling John over.

“Look what I won!” he exclaimed, holding up a small metal car for John. “I got it at the flowerpot game, and I got this at the ring toss, and I made a guess on how many Jelly Babies are in Mrs. Bailey’s jar just like you taught me…” He began emptying his pockets as he chattered on about his day thus far.

Rose heard a disgusted sigh from the other direction. “Is something wrong, Sir James?” 

He shook his head. “I find children tiresome at the best of times. Fetes like this only make them more uncouth and unrestrained.” Sir James was, of course, referring to Anthony, watching the boy haughtily out of the corner of his eye.

Rose felt her shoulders tense reflexively. “I’ll remind you that today _is_ meant for relaxing and having fun.”

“Oh, of course, if this is one’s idea of it. But being run over and having my ears assaulted by the brats is just dreadful.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Rose remarked, hoping that’d be the end of it.

“I don’t recall _you_ being quite so rambunctious when we were children, Rose,” Sir James continued. Anthony was running around the table to show off to Mickey and Martha now.

“I was a good actress,” she said.

“Rose pushed me out of a tree when we were kids,” Mickey added.

“I _told_ you it was no boys allowed!” she laughed. “That was the girls’ tree. You had your own.”

“ _I_ wouldn’t have wanted to go up anyway,” Anthony declared. “Girls are icky.”

Rose and her friends laughed; Sir James and Mr. Naismith barely smiled. 

“Your parents allowed you to climb trees, Lady Rose? I never permitted my daughter to be so immodest when she was growing up,” Mr. Naismith said.

Rose glared. “My parents encouraged me to play and explore nature, as they do with Anthony now.” She leveled her stare at both him and Sir James. “Clearly yours were unsuccessful in their lessons on decorum. I might remind you that in a scenario you find disagreeable, one should excuse themselves politely at the earliest convenience.”

The others were silent, and even Anthony was watching. John jumped in before the boy could ask about the tension at the table.

“Tony, isn’t there a piggyback race coming up? Do you want to do it?” 

“I need a grown-up to carry me.”

“Am I enough of a grown-up?”

Anthony eyed John appraisingly. “You’ll do. Let’s go!” He grabbed John’s hand and dragged him off, to Rose’s relief.

“Look, mate,” Mickey said, “I know you’ve been away for a while, but your title doesn’t mean half as much to Bucknall as the Tylers do. At least _try_ to pretend you don’t think you’re better than them. Come on, ladies. Let’s go watch Master Anthony and Mr. Smith in the races.”

The trio walked back out to the green, Rose nearly shaking with rage. Martha took her friend’s arm reassuringly. “He’s an idiot, Rose, don’t listen to him.”

“Oh, I know. I just can’t believe he’s become that full of himself, that he’d insult Tony when he’s _right there_. Mickey, that was bold of you, but I appreciate it.”

He shrugged. “You and Tony are family. We stick up for each other.”

They arrived at the field and found John and Anthony deep in conversation at the starting line. Anthony’s back was to them, but Rose saw John’s face was deathly serious as he knelt before her brother. She couldn’t hear them, they were probably discussing racing strategies. She knew Tony must have heard at least some of what Sir James and Mr. Naismith had said, but hoped John had distracted him through the worst of it. John smiled at Anthony and they performed an elaborate handshake before Anthony climbed on John’s back. 

Mr. Saxon sidled up to Rose while she cheered and apologised for rushing off earlier. “I had promised to meet with someone in the village and didn’t want to be late.”

“Quite all right,” Rose said, wondering who would even be left in the village with the fete going on.

“Who are we cheering for?”

“My brother Anthony,” Rose said, pointing him out. “He’s with John smith, the agent of our estate. There, in the pinstripes. The two are proper partners in crime.”

Mr. Saxon made an odd face as he nodded. “How long as Mr. Smith been at Bucknall House?”

“About eight months or so,” she answered. “Only a few as agent, my father promoted him in the spring.” She described some of the work John had done, only interrupted when the race ended.

John’s long legs carried them to an easy victory and Anthony accepted their trophy from over John’s shoulder before they rejoined the group. He gave the trophy to Rose for safekeeping as he bounded off to the potato sack race, or whatever else was up next.

“Oh John, you should meet-” Rose turned around to introduce John to Mr. Saxon, but the man was gone. “Where did he go?”

“Where did who go?”

“Harold Saxon, he came with Sir James. Seemed quite interested in your work.” John looked puzzled. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, fine, sorry,” he said, running his hand over the back of his neck. “Just a bit worn out from the race! Your brother’s a demanding jockey. Shall we be off?”

The day wore on. Mickey and John got roped into the tug-o-war by Jack and Rory, and their side won handily. When the night fell group of fire artists performed, juggling torches to much applause. The party continued after the children had gone home to bed, with more gambling starting and alcohol flowing. Sir James and his accomplices seemed to have disappeared, to Rose’s relief.

“Did you have a good day?” she asked John. Both were tired, and had said goodbye to Mickey and Martha in order to start the walk back to the House. 

“I did! A very good day,” he answered. “Did you?”

“Yes, I did. A lovely man won a coconut for me,” she said, and they laughed. 

“I’m sorry about that business with Sir James earlier,” John said, suddenly less jovial. “Anthony heard most of it, unfortunately. He figured out pretty quickly that the race was a distraction.”

Rose frowned and sighed. “I’m just amazed at his gall. It’s okay to not like children, but he was unusually rude. Even for him. Was Tony upset?”

“A little. But I told him that people who are mean to children usually don’t like anything, and get coal in their Christmas stocking and have poltergeists in their attics. And some other nonsense I don’t remember but it made him laugh and convinced him not to worry about it.”

“Thank you for that, and for spending so much time with him. He had a lot of fun.” 

“It was my pleasure. I had fun too.” The road was dark, lights from the village behind them, the moon casting shadows of the trees across their paths. John slowed his pace deliberately. “Let’s not rush back,” he murmured. Rose smiled up at him, and he glanced at the space between them. “Can I- may I hold your hand?”

Rose was a little surprised at his shy question. “Of course,” she said, twining their fingers together.

“I wanted to do this all day,” John confessed. “Just strolling through the fair, holding hands, for everyone to see.”

“I’d have liked that,” Rose said. The reasons why it couldn’t have happened hung unspoken in the air.

“There’s- there’s going to come a time when I can’t help myself, Rose,” John continued. “If Tony hadn’t been there, I’d have seriously considered punching James Stone in the face or something. To defend your honour and stand up for your family. I wanted to kiss you after the tug-o-war. I wanted to bid on a picnic basket and share it with you and hold you while we watched the fire spinners, and win prizes at all the games for you.” He kicked at a bit of gravel in the road. “I’d like to believe a day will come when we can do all that. I know you do, but it’s hard for me to even imagine.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry.” John stopped, the House in view, and released Rose’s hand to cup her cheek. He bent down and kissed her gently, slowly, drinking in her taste from her tongue and lips. Rose grasped his hips and pulled him against her, felt his arms move around her as they finally broke for air. John pressed his forehead to hers and closed his eyes. She tried to search his face but came up empty. 

“John?”

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I can’t- I can’t do this anymore. It’s not fair to you, to either of us.”

“What are you saying?” Rose stepped back and the pain in John’s features revealed itself. 

“I feel too strongly about you to keep us a secret. One day, I’m going to slip up. I’m going to give us away, and cause all sorts of trouble. It would be better… if there was no secret for us to keep.”

“John, don’t do this,” Rose pleaded. “It’ll be fine. We make each other happy, yeah? Don’t give that up. Don’t give _me_ up.” She was trying so, so hard not to cry, but her eyes disobeyed her.

“You make me happier than you could ever know, Rose Tyler,” John told her. “And I’m glad I could make you happy, even for a little while.”

Rose tried to keep protesting, wiping away tears as fast as she could, but it was no use. In the end she clung to John’s jacket and buried her face in his chest, his whispered apologies blending in with her sobs. He held her close and she felt his lips press against her shoulder, and the shuddering breaths he took.

Neither could bear to look at the other properly after that. John offered Rose his handkerchief so she could dry her eyes, and they walked the last stretch of road a respectable distance apart. They didn’t speak again until they reached the top of the stairs and bade each other goodnight.

“I’m going to figure this out, John,” Rose said, staring at her hand on her door, knowing he was watching her from down the hall. “I’m going to figure it out.”

“Okay,” floated down to her. She hurried into her room before she could break down again.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose and John adjust to the change in their relationship. Lord Powell's brother comes to visit.

Lady Rose was, indeed, a good actress. She continued to act as if nothing had changed, taking the lead and forcing John to try to keep up. She even made avoiding each other seem natural, as they divided up tasks to take on the increasingly busy harvest season. By unspoken agreement, the west tower was hers, and John took Anthony out to the field by the pond for his astronomy lessons.

He also spent much more time in his workshop than usual, tinkering and going over accounts. John told himself he wasn’t hiding, just busy, but Jack came by one day to call him out.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Lady Rose’s friend got her cousin to bring over some of this experimental farm equipment he’s developing and I’m improving it,” John said, not looking up from the contraption on his workbench. “Lethbridge-somethingorother, fancies himself an engineer, but-”

“I meant with Lady Rose.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“Is that why Gwen says she spent the week after the fete crying herself to sleep every night?” John winced. Jack leaned around the gears and metal to bring his face level with John’s. “Did you break things off with her?”

“I thought you’d be happy with that.”

“I can’t say that I didn’t think it was a good idea, but Christ, John, I didn’t think the two of you would be _this_ miserable. Gwen says she’s barely sleeping, all she does is work, doesn’t even read for pleasure or paint or anything. Master Anthony can barely get her to go out and play.” 

John set down his screwdriver and rummaged through his toolbox. “We’ll get over it.”

“Just… why now?”

John tossed a spanner back into the toolbox with a clank, irritated with all of Jack’s questions. “Because there are people I know, things that I’ve done, and I was hoping I’d never have to deal with them again but they’re coming back up. It’s for her own good.” 

“Did you even give her a choice in the matter?”

“She doesn’t know, I just told her I didn’t think I could keep us a secret anymore.”

Jack frowned. “She might be able to help.”

“That would make things worse. For her, mostly. She could be in danger.”

“But-”

“Jack, stop it,” John snapped. “I didn’t _want_ to break things off. I really didn’t. But it’s the only way I know to keep her safe. And you know what? It’s not even just her. It’s the whole household.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “If I can’t get things sorted I might have to leave Bucknall entirely.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. We’re your family, we take care of _each other_. It doesn’t just fall to you to protect everyone,” Jack retorted. “And I think we’re all old enough, Lady Rose included, to decide whether or not we need protecting.” John didn’t answer him, just kept working on the machine, and Jack threw up his hands. “Fine. At least think about it, and try to not be a martyr. Or an arse. Or both.” With that, he stalked out of the workshop.

***

Lord Powell’s younger brother Stuart had an annoying tendency to show up to his childhood home both sporadically and without notice, sending the family and staff into a tizzy as they scrambled to accommodate the wayward sibling.

As the second son, Stuart took his lack of responsibility seriously, and often tried to bring his brother along. It was Stuart who had first introduced Lord Powell to H.C. Clements and its related companies, and his latest visit was on similar business. 

“Health tonics, Pete,” he said at luncheon the day after his arrival. “They’re the next big thing, I’m telling you. And H.C. represents dozens of them.”

Rose kept her ears attuned to the conversation, one she knew she wouldn’t really participate in. Her uncle had never taken her seriously, but she had a feeling she’d need to discuss this rationally with her father at some point. Probably John too - he was not at home that day, out visiting a friend. Part of Rose was relieved not to have to deal with him in front of her uncle; another now dreaded having to find him and relay the information.

“What do you mean by ‘health tonics,’ Stuart?” Lady Powell asked.

“Cordials, salves, drinks, oils, all designed to cure anything that ails you. Pains, fevers, kidney problems, brittle hair, rashes, you name it. Some of ‘em even fix more than one thing!”

“Sounds too good to be true,” Rose muttered, but nobody heard her.

“How are they any different than what’s on the market now?” Lady Powell continued. 

“Science! We’ve made so many advances in science and medicine, today’s products are far more effective.”

“Wouldn’t we be able to get these things fixed by our doctor?” Lord Powell asked.

“See, the docs don’t want you to know about these things,” Stuart scoffed. “They work so well, they’d put them out of a job! Better than an apple a day, I tell ya!”

Stuart continued pitching the products until Lady Powell called an end to business talk at the dining table. Rose wasn’t sure, but it seemed like her father was seriously interested by the end, with Stuart promising to show him a portfolio later. He claimed to be making plenty of money, but from her seat across the table she could see wear and frays on her uncle’s jacket cuffs. 

After luncheon, Rose wandered the House and grounds, trying to convince herself not to check if John had returned. He’d been spending more and more time in his workshop, playing around with the farm equipment that Kate Lethbridge-Stewart’s cousin had sent over. At least, that’s what he said he was doing. Rose was certain that he’d been avoiding her since the fete, only keeping the appearance of their former closeness when they were around other people.

Rose couldn’t understand it. Or rather, she almost could, were it not for how sudden John’s about face was. She knew their relationship had been risky, but the spark was there, and it was undeniable. They worked well together, made each other laugh, shared a great many interests, and exposed each other to new ones. She’d heard from Gwen and Donna that he didn’t seem like himself the late few times they’d seen him - he’d been pensive, withdrawn, almost angry. Rose had noticed that he’d been less chatty as well, and they never ‘accidentally’ ran into each other anymore.

She soon found that quite unconsciously, her feet had led her down to where John’s workshop was. From where she stood, she could see he was in there, goggles in place, bent over somethingorother on his workbench. Heart and fists clenching, Rose took a deep breath, turned, and went the other way.

***

Evidently, Lady Rose’s Uncle Stuart would be staying for a while. It was never announced, he just let weeks go by without making any mention of leaving. After suffering through several meals with the man, John was quite ready to snap, but managed to keep himself together. Ordinarily, he and Lady Rose would suffer such fools in their company together, exchanging eye-rolls and exasperated looks, or pithy asides when the situation allowed, but she was hardly looking at him. It wasn’t until dessert one evening that he finally managed to catch her gaze. He raised an eyebrow and subtly quirked his head in Stuart’s direction with a disbelieving frown as the man talked about the importance of herbal supplementation, and Lady Rose smiled shyly before looking down at her pudding.

A few days later, Stuart managed to insert himself into one of the weekly estate meetings that John, Lady Rose, and Lord Powell held. These had been some of the most difficult encounters for John and Rose, with only her father as a buffer, but they’d managed. Stuart made things worse, trying to insert himself into decisions and giving unsolicited advice, especially when it came to investments. 

“I have the latest statement of your returns, Lord Powell,” John said, handing over a folder. “You’re doing quite well in a few things, but I think it’s time we look at trimming a few of the investments that haven’t been doing well over the long term. I’ve made a few notes in there.”

Lord Powell flipped through the pages, asking a few questions here and there, while Stuart rather clumsily read over his shoulder. 

“H.C. Clements? You can’t divest from H.C. Clements!” he exclaimed.

“They’re volatile,” John explained, trying not to sound exasperated. “Returns are all over the place, half their products fail before the end of the quarter, and they’re not forthcoming about their research and development.” This, of course, was all true, but really only served as a better explanation for John to give than ‘this company is involved in drug dealing, prostitution, and money laundering, and I want your family to be as far away from them as possible.’ 

“They’re getting into health supplements, it’s gonna be big business.”

“That’s what I heard four months ago, but the products in their portfolio have shown to be unproven medically and inconsistent in terms of revenue. We have much better, more reliable options that should be considered first. My lord,” he said, “I understand how exciting these products are, but I think you’ve put far too much faith and money in them. The buffer in your accounts isn’t enough for me to feel comfortable with so much money going to such a high-risk company.”

Lord Powell frowned, and turned to his daughter. “Rose, what do you think?”

Rose looked a little startled. “Um, I agree with John, actually. I don’t think it could hurt to keep a little money with them, but I haven’t been impressed with what I’ve seen either.”

Stuart grumbled, Lord Powell promised to think on it, and the meeting wrapped up shortly afterwards. Lord Powell escorted his brother out quickly, leaving John and Lady Rose alone for the first time in a long while.

“So,” he said.

“So.”

“Hello.”

“Hi.”

They stood, avoiding looking at each other, for what felt like an age.

“I’m sorry,” Rose said.

“For what?” John asked, bewildered.

“For my uncle. I know he’s a bit of a prat.”

“Oh. Yeah, just a bit.” He tried on a small smile, but she barely returned it.

“He thinks it’s stupid that I put so much time into business. Doesn’t think I actually know anything.”

“Then he’s a _big_ prat,” John said. 

Rose’s lips finally curved up a little. “I’m glad you brought up divestment,” she said. “I’ve been uncomfortable with that company for a while. Sir James, Mr. Bennett… all of them. From the very start I didn’t like it, but it’s only recently I’ve been able to explain it.”

“They’re not good people.” The words came out sharper than John had planned, and Rose’s attention snapped to him. “I mean, from what I can tell. I don’t like the way they do business.”

“Yeah,” she said, wandering over to the library window. He wondered if she could feel his eyes boring into her back, staring at the soft blue dress she wore, studying the embroidery around the collar. Before he could do anything, she spoke again. “I’ve never much liked Uncle Stuart.”

“No?” He came up to stand next to her. 

“No. He’s flighty, tries too hard to fashionable and on trend with everything. He was the worst when I was a teenager, trying to relate to my cousins and I on music and slang. He always got everything wrong. I think if he’d just acted normally we’d have liked him better,” she explained, still staring outside. “Dad used to be a lot like him, I’m told, until Granddad started getting older and he had to start taking over the estate. I think Stuart has always resented that.”

“I was the younger brother too,” John said. “Irving tried to get me to be responsible and plot out a life for myself, but I’ve always preferred to wander.”

“Then it must be hard for you staying in Bucknall all this time,” Rose said, with just enough of an edge to her voice to make John squirm.

He looked down at her profile, the set of her jaw and the way the sunlight illuminated her hair. “There are things that make it worth staying," he said quietly.

Rose looked at him strangely, her arms crossed, and for a moment it seemed she might say something. Instead she walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not the biggest fan of this chapter - it's too hard to write them being moody about each other! - but there's gotta be some awkwardness before the payoff and some setup for the future...


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Colleagues and friends. Colleagues and friends. That's all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have fun picking out all the references I threw in!

The subject of divesting from H.C. Clements never came up again, probably because Stuart kept inserting himself into every discussion that might have had anything to do with business. It was with some relief that Lord Powell asked Rose to go into the City for a few days in order to take care of a few things for him.

“Correspondence, mostly,” he said. “There are a few things I’d rather not entrust to the post. And a few meetings, folks you should get to know.” He went over the names and they discussed arrangements, which was when Rose’s stomach sunk. “John will be going with you. As agent he has legal authority over things, he’ll need to be there.”

“Right. Of course.” She glanced at John. He was intently studying some papers. Her father talked about opening up the townhouse.

“I can stay with some friends,” John said abruptly. “They’re always pestering me to visit anyway, and they’re not far from your townhouse.”

Lord Powell tentatively agreed, and John rang his friends Jenny and Vastra. When they heard he’d be on business with Lady Rose, they insisted that she stay with them too. Lord Powell thought it was splendid. So it was that Rose spent an awkwardly quiet trip into the City with John a few days later. Both of them kept their noses in books for most of the way.

Jenny and Vastra were very happy to see John, and thrilled to meet Rose. “John has told us so much about you,” Jenny said as she showed Rose to her room.

“All good things, I hope.”

Jenny only grinned. “We’ve not got much staff here, just a cook and a housekeeper. I hope John told you.”

“Yes, that’s quite all right. It’s just a few days.” Truthfully, she was now regretting not bringing Gwen, if only to have someone to talk to properly. 

“We don’t really dress for dinner around here anyway,” Jenny continued, “since it’s just the two of us. But if you need a hand with a zipper or anything, just let me know.”

“Thanks.”

Jenny left Rose to get settled, and she sat down heavily on the bed. The agenda for the next few days was back-to-back meetings and luncheons and teas and one dinner, a fundraiser for the Mr. Copper Foundation with its eponymous founder. But first, it would be a meal with John and his friends.

Meanwhile, John was apprising Vastra and Jenny of the situation with himself and Rose. Vastra immediately whacked him in the arm. 

“Ow! What did you do that for?!” 

“You gave up the one thing that’s made you the happiest you’ve ever been?” she hissed. “Are you an idiot?”

“I’m trying to protect her,” John said, rubbing his bicep. “James Stone has been bringing more and more of his associates to Bucknall recently. Harold Saxon showed up the other day.”

Vastra sobered, and she and Jenny got concerned. “Is there anything we can do?” Jenny asked.

John shook his head. “Keep your ears to the ground, I guess. Stone went for years without coming back to the area and now he’s suddenly setting up house and shop there. Something’s brought him back. I need to know what.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know that Saxon knows who I am - I didn’t see him in Bucknall - but I can’t take the chance.”

“I’m sorry, John,” Vastra said. “We’ll do our best. Get yourself settled, dinner’s in an hour.”

***

Dinner that wasn’t an elaborate production was something Lady Rose hadn’t had since she was in college, and any nerves she had about getting to know John’s friends were quickly wiped away. Jenny and Vastra were consummate hosts, warm, funny, and genuinely interested in her. They each had quick wits and dry senses of humour, and their banter was infectious. Soon the women were in stitches, swapping mostly embarrassing stories about John.

“...And then, he stumbles out of the cupboard, covered head to toe in red food colouring, and stiff as a board because it’s been drying on his clothes,” Jenny said, pausing to let everyone catch their breaths from laughing. “All I could do was take him outside and turn the hose on him, he was such a mess!”

“Yeah, fine, you try infiltrating a sweets factory to find out if they’ve been adulterating their allsorts,” John grumbled, trying to sound put out but unable to hide his smile.

“If you recall correctly, I _did_ ,” Jenny teased. “In and out, found the contamination and rescued you, home in time for tea.” 

Lady Rose’s giggles finally died down and she asked, “What is it the two of you do, again?”

“Private investigators,” Vastra said. “Occasionally we consult for the police, but it’s mostly independent work.”

“They don’t like us showing them up too often,” Jenny said conspiratorially. 

“And how’d you meet John?”

The other three glanced at each other. “I’m afraid John doesn’t come out looking too good in this story,” Jenny said.

“That hasn’t stopped you yet!” John protested. 

Vastra grinned slyly. “I was investigating a tunnel collapse in the metro. This was the early days, before I really understood what I was doing. Five people died and I almost got trapped myself, until I ran into this fellow here.” She gestured at John. “He helped get some people out and then, trying to show off-”

“I was not!”

“-Ended up face first in a rushing sewer.”

“Oh my goodness!” Lady Rose squeaked, trying not to laugh too hard. “I’m sorry, John, it just sounds so much like something you’d do!”

“Thanks a lot.” He couldn’t sound affronted if he tried - he was so happy to hear Lady Rose laughing. 

“It’s worse than the paint!” she giggled. 

“What happened with the paint?” Jenny asked, and John groaned.

“I’m just going to die under the table here, if that’s all right with you.”

“He was repainting a section of the kitchen, which he was trying to do without getting in the cook’s way,” Lady Rose said. “I came down to speak to Mrs. Grant about the menu that night and John was trying to eavesdrop on us.”

“I was not!”

“He ends up stepping in the paint, got it all over his hands when he took off his shoe, then I’m not sure what happened, but it ended up on his face - white paint, over the whole thing, even his mouth,” Lady Rose continued, gesturing around her face. “And his hair! Mrs. Grant and I came around the corner and saw him there absolutely white as a sheet, footprints around the whole room.”

John, red-faced, sipped his wine indignantly. “I wasn’t eavesdropping, I just _happened_ to overhear you.”

“And that’s why you got paint on your face?” Vastra asked.

“I got paint on my face because… because I heard you asking Mrs. Grant to make banana cake for pudding,” he said quietly. “You had found out it was my favourite and wanted me to have it for my first dinner with the family. It kind of… distracted me, and you know I get all…” He waved his hands around his face and over his head, ghosting the kinds of fidgeting movements he always made when he was nervous. “When I’m flustered.” 

Lady Rose looked down at her plate and pushed her food around a little. “I’m sorry, John.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “It just meant a lot, and it surprised me. And even I have to admit it was pretty funny. I saw myself in the mirror later.”

“It seems you have quite the talent for getting yourself covered in foreign substances, John,” Vastra remarked.

“I hope you’ll forgive us for making you the focus of our entertainment tonight,” Jenny said. “And that we’ve not got anything banana in for pudding. I seem to recall you mentioning that Rose favours chocolate.”

“That she does,” John said, winking at Lady Rose. He hoped she knew that all was forgiven - or rather, that there was nothing to forgive.

***

The week’s business meeting went well, and Friday evening found Lady Rose and John at the Copper Foundation gala, held at a post downtown hotel.

“Remind me again what these folks do?” John asked in the car on the way over.

“They fund a whole range of charities. Mostly social welfare projects,” Lady Rose explained, adjusting her gloves. “Orphanages, hospitals, that sort of thing.”

John nodded and stared out the window at the buildings going by, squinting in the early September sunset. He was glad that things between himself and Lady Rose had warmed up a little - spending time with Jenny and Vastra had certainly helped, as had presenting a united front at the meetings. If nothing else they were in agreement on business, and they were at least still friends, and that was better than the alternative, he supposed. Still, his heart sped up when she laughed, and his stomach flipped when he saw her come downstairs that evening. She’d changed into a glittering dark blue silk gown and her long black gloves, setting off her pale skin and golden hair. It took a lot of effort to just smile normally instead of grinning like a fool. Colleagues and friends, he reminded himself, before Lady Rose said something that caught his attention.

“I think they’re starting up a project to help get women out of prostitution,” she said absently.

“Is that so?”

“Mmhmm. New this year.”

They’d arrived at the hotel, and John followed politely behind Lady Rose as they made their way to the ballroom. It was lavishly decorated, and many guests were already milling about with cocktails. As the footman by the door announced them, John couldn’t ignore the irony as he recognised several women (and a few men) from the Versailles and other clubs. Flickers of recognition went around as they passed each other - little acknowledgements that other partygoers never picked up on.

After cocktails there was dinner, some speeches, dancing, and a silent auction. Lady Rose put in a few bids, teasingly refusing to offer more money for the banana tree that John insisted would grow splendidly in the conservatory.

The foundation’s namesake proved to be a cheerful, if absent-minded, older chap, who referred frequently to his assistant for the answers about how much money the Foundation had, and just how much that money would buy.

“That should be enough for buy new shoes for one of the orphanages, I suppose,” he mused after hearing one number.

“Mr. Copper, for that you could buy the shoe factory,” John said, flustering the man again.

Lady Rose smiled as Mr. Copper moved on to speak to someone else, then glanced up at John over her glass. “Don’t suppose I could tempt you to dance, could I?”

John swallowed the last of his drink rather too quickly and had to cough before answering. “I suppose you could,” he said at last, and they went out to the dance floor. The band was playing a newer, lively tune, and the two of them quickly picked up the unfamiliar steps, laughing the whole time. 

“You’re a quick study, John,” Lady Rose said as the song changed to something a little slower.

“You know perfectly well I’m a good dancer, my lady,” he retorted, eyes twinkling. “Ever since you made me show you my moves at that first party.”

“You were so shy about it! I practically had to drag you onto the floor,” she teased.

“Well, once I found out I’d always have at least one good partner, it made life much easier,” he said. John found his voice pitching lower than he’d wanted it to, and Lady Rose glanced away. 

“Isn’t that Lynda Moss over there?”

John turned them in their movements to look. Lady Rose was right - Lynda was across the floor sitting at a table, speaking to an unfamiliar man. 

“I wonder who she’s here with,” Lady Rose mused. “Sir James never comes to charity functions, just sends a cheque for the bare minimum he needs to be respectable.”

“Sounds about right.”

“We should go say hello.” She started leading John off the dance floor, but stopped abruptly. “Oh shoot, Roger Curbishley is here,” she groaned, turning closer to John to hide her face. “Mum set me up with him a while back and I forgot that we’d met before. He’ll make a joke about it and then completely misinterpret anything I saw as meaning I’m absolutely fascinated by him. Just watch.”

Lady Rose’s predictions came true, and John grit his teeth at the oblivious man. Dark-haired and roguishly handsome, he was with his fair-haired half-brother, Reverend Arnold Golightly, and Roger’s charm clashed with the clergyman’s stiff convictions.

“Arnie here gets miffed if there isn’t enough Jesus in with the donations,” Roger said to explain his brother’s scowl.

“There’s no reason to only uplift people materially and not morally,” Reverend Golightly sniffed.

“I hardly think religion is a prerequisite for good moral fibre,” John said. “I mean, I turned out just fine without it.”

“You’re not a member of a church?” Lady Rose asked, a little surprised.

John shook his head. “Wasn’t raised in one either. My parents were science teachers; they taught my brother and I to be upstanding people by virtue of our humanity, rather than because a celestial being told us so.”

Lady Rose seemed impressed by that answer, but the brothers less so.

“Clearly not everyone has been blessed with such positive role models,” Roger said. “Mr. Copper means to start funding a group to aid ladies of the night, I’m told.” He said this with a knowing, cheeky quirk of his eyebrows, and John began to dislike him further.

“That’s right, I believe they’re called the Working Girls’ Aid Society,” Lady Rose said.

“Yes, and they didn’t want me on the committee, though these girls need the word of God more than most,” Reverend Golightly grumbled.

“Come now, Reverend, these women aren’t in their profession for lack of religion,” Lady Rose argued. “There are all sorts of unfortunate circumstances that put people in difficult positions, they’re just doing what they need to survive.”

“If they had God in their hearts, they’d have found a less devilish path through which to do so,” he insisted.

“Wasn’t Christ a good friend to prostitutes?” John interjected. “Don’t look so stunned, Reverend, my parents didn’t teach me religion but they _did_ teach me to read.” He caught Roger and Lady Rose smirking at his rebuke. “He spent time with them regardless of their faith, and treated them with just as much respect as anyone else. You’d do well to follow his example.”

“Well said,” Roger agreed, clapping John on the back to his brother’s dismay. “The priority ought to be care and support first, religion a distant second. They’ve got enough to worry about, don’t you think?”

Reverend Golightly didn’t seem finished, but John’s capacity for civility was diminishing, so he excused himself to a balcony for some fresh air. Lynda was long gone, but he didn’t want to talk to anyone in there anyway. It wasn’t just the sermonizing from Reverend Golightly that bothered him, it was the _pity_ that everyone in the room seemed to share. He’d ended up at the Versailles for the money, sure, but it was a decent place to work overall, and he knew he’d been lucky to end up there. Still, he’d met men and women walking the street who seemed to enjoy their jobs well enough, but just wanted a safe place to sleep and a good meal. And it wasn’t just the sex workers - it was the children without families, it was the unemployed, it was the folks with the worst-paying jobs. What they all had in common was a desire to be seen as human beings, not playthings for the right price, cheap labour, or wayward souls in need of saving. Everyone in that ballroom seemed oblivious to that.

He wasn’t alone for long. Lady Rose came looking for him after a while, and joined him at the railing he leaned on.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” John said on an exhale. “It’s just hard hearing how people talk about the poor when you’ve been there yourself. If your father hadn’t hired me, hadn’t given me a chance…” He shook his head.

Lady Rose rested a hand on his arm and John found himself staring at it, soaking in the gesture. It felt so intimate, moreso than being close together on the dance floor. “I know,” she said. “I’m so glad he did, and I know you’d do the same for anyone else if you had the means. You do it already, really, teaching all those boys from the village new skills. No one else would do that. That’s part of what I- what makes you a good man.”

John put his other hand over Lady Rose’s, stroking his thumb over the back of her wrist, and gave her a small smile. “How do you always know the right thing to say?”

“It’s a talent,” she said.

“Well, thank you. I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome.” She gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “Do you want to go home?”

“Now _that_ was the perfect thing to say, Rose Tyler.”

They said their goodbyes and wove out through the crowd, glad that their driver wasn’t far. The sleepy, dark quiet of the car was warm and comfortable now, unlike their journey into the City days before. John unlocked Jenny and Vastra’s door and ushered Lady Rose into the silent house. A lamp glowed on the hall table to greet them.

“Thanks for coming with me tonight,” Lady Rose said, waiting as John made sure the front door was secured. “You know how frightful these things can be on your own.”

“It was my pleasure.”

“You were so patient with me dragging you all over town this week, even when you didn’t really need to be there. I just… wanted to keep you close, I suppose. I’ve- I’ve missed you.”

“It’s okay, I didn’t mind. I’ve missed you too.” John saw where her fingertips grazed the hall table and traced them with his own. “And I… I find it really bloody hard to say no to you.”

“Even with all the…” she trailed off, gesturing uselessly at the air.

“Especially with all that.”

Lady Rose’s gaze was both soft and challenging, confused and determined. John thought he probably looked much the same. He wondered what she thought of that.

“Sod it,” he muttered, then gently cupped her cheek and kissed her.

One of Lady Rose’s hands clutched his, the other his jacket, but only for a moment. She broke the kiss and took a step back, stopping John when he instinctively tried to follow.

“Please tell me you meant that,” she said. “Because I won’t let you bring me back in if you’re just going to push me away again later.”

John hung his head. “I can’t promise I won’t get scared, or that I won’t want to run. But I’ll try. I want to try. But there’s a lot to sort out.”

“I know. But just talk to me. Tell me what’s on your mind. I know there’s more to this for you than just our positions,” she said, smoothing his lapels. “If that was the case, you’d have worked something out by now with that big brain of yours.”

John chuckled at her teasing. “You’re right. Starting tomorrow, perhaps? It’s late, I think we’d best turn in for tonight.”

Rose stifled a yawn and agreed. “Tomorrow.” She looped her arms around John’s waist and rested her cheek on his chest. John held her close and kissed her hair. 

“Planning on sleeping here?”

“Mmm. Perhaps.”

“Come on. Up we go.” John turned Rose around and guided her up the stairs, a hand on the small of her back. At the top she hesitated before kissing him good night. 

“What about Jenny and Vastra?”

“They know everything. I’ll tell you about that tomorrow as well.” John felt Rose soften into him as she finally kissed him, gratefully receiving the affection he offered and returning her own. Both were breathless when they parted. 

“Good night, John.”

“Good night, Rose.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John starts to come clean. Then things get dirty. Lord and Lady Powell have made some observations. Donna has an announcement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of NSFW here. Yay!

John and Rose had the day after the Copper Foundation ball to themselves. They had no meetings, and Jenny and Vastra were out on an investigation. They didn’t expect to be home until very late, so John and Rose took the free time to have some fun.

Rose took John to some museums and galleries he’d always wanted to see but never had the ability to visit. Where he had studied astronomy, she had studied art, and she felt a bit giddy having her turn playing teacher. He was an attentive student, trailing after her with bright eyes and his hands clasped behind his back. When they encountered an unfamiliar piece, Rose joined John in making up the most ridiculous possible backstories, each trying to outdo the other and send them into giggles.

John showed Rose a few of his old haunts, including a pub that no lady of her stature should ever be caught near. Rose dragged John inside and insisted they have a pint. Back outside was a young girl named Mandy who had gotten lost, and John swung her into his arms and deftly navigated a series of winding side streets, laneways, and alleys to get her home, telling stories to cheer her up the whole way. Her home was a ramshackle addition onto a tenement, and Rose fidgeted in the doorway.

“You know, this is how a lot of your beneficiaries live,” John murmured.

“I know,” she said, taking in the dirt floor and mismatched furniture. “It’s still hard.”

John rubbed her shoulder as Mandy scampered back to them, confirming that her mother was out. “That’s okay, she’ll be home soon.” Rose knelt down and began rummaging through her purse for a few notes. “Oh no Miss Rose, I can’t take nothin’.”

“Rose, my dear, were we not in the market for some new artwork?” John called from the other side of the room. Scattered on the table were a number of pencil drawings, most on old sweet bags and butcher paper. “Isn’t this lovely?”

“I drew those!” Mandy exclaimed, racing over and pulling out a few of her favourites. 

“Really! You didn’t say you could draw!” John said. He and Rose listened carefully to Mandy describe what she’d drawn, asking questions and praising her work, eventually asking the girl if they could buy a piece she called ‘Balloons in the Park.’ 

“I’d say it’s worth twenty at least,” John said.

“At least. I’d say forty.” Rose pressed two notes into Mandy’s hands. “This will look splendid in our study. Thank you very much.”

Mandy’s eyes grew wide, as if she needed it to take in just how much money was in front of her. “Thank _you_ Miss Rose, Mr. Smith.” 

John pulled a pen from his breast pocket and had Mandy sign her drawing before he rolled it up. “Excellent. Now don’t spend all that in one place. And keep drawing, you’re very good.”

Mandy hugged both of them before they left, heading for the townhouse to put the drawing safely away. “Was that okay?” Rose asked. “She was so thin, and so small for her age…”

“It’s okay, Rose,” John said. “I could tell she’d be more comfortable if she’d done something for it. A lot of folks around here are too proud for charity, and the kids pick that up quickly. She’ll give the money to her mum and they’ll make it last. And hopefully she keeps drawing, she actually is rather good.” He waved the roll of paper to emphasise. 

“She is,” Rose said. “What are you going to do with it?”

“Put it up in my study, like you said. Well, by study I mean workshop, but they’re the same for me,” he grinned.

Artwork stowed, they rested with a cup of tea before they went out again. Rose had not, however, forgotten John’s promise to her from the day before.

“You knew your way around that neighbourhood rather well,” she said.

John examined the pattern on the china in his hands. “I lived there a while when I first moved here. Not far from Mandy, actually. I slept on the floor in a two-room flat with seven other boys my age until I could make enough money to move.” He chuckled to himself. “Then I slept on the floor in a two-room flat with only four other boys, so it was a step up.”

“And what talents did you use to get by?”

John grinned at her. “Talking.”

“Talking.”

He nodded. “Can talk my way out of anything. Can talk my way _into_ anything too. And I can be very convincing. Used most of those, one time or another.”

Rose tried not to frown too obviously at his evasion, knowing this was difficult for him. “Any particular… context for those skills?”

John set down his teacup carefully. “I worked for Dorium Maldovar.”

“The landlord at the Headless Monk?”

“Yup. He controls most of the black market in this part of the country, and a significant portion of the trade in illegal drugs. I’m not entirely sure how, but I know he’s also connected to Harold Saxon.”

“Sir James’s colleague. And Lance Bennett’s. That’s why you don’t trust H.C. Clements.”

“Yes. I’ve never met him, but I’ve heard his name all over the place. Anyway. I started out doing errands, then delivering product, and then I went into collections. Eventually that included, erm, enforcement.” He swallowed hard and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor.

Rose also put her tea aside. “You sound awfully professional about it. Clinical.”

“That’s the only way I can process it. Without having a meltdown, anyway.”

She moved to sit next to him on the sofa and put her hand on his shoulder, barely reacting when he flinched. “When you say ‘enforcement’...”

“I mean I hurt people, Rose,” John said, looking her in the eyes. “To make them pay their debts. People like me, just trying to get by, for the most part.” He sighed, turning to face her properly. “Please don’t cry, Rose. I’m sorry I never said anything about it. Bucknall was supposed to be a new start, I never wanted to have to share this with anyone. If you don’t want me there anymore-”

“Oh you daft man,” Rose interrupted. “Of course I still want you. At the House. I’m just sad that you’ve been carrying this alone, all this time. It must have been so hard, having to do all those awful things to survive.”

John gaped at her.

“Was that it? What you weren’t telling me? Because everyone knows what Dorium is like, they’d never take his word over ours.”

“Perhaps,” John said slowly, “but he also had some rather well-placed clientele. It’s them I’m worried about, for your sake and your family’s.”

Rose pursed her lips and processed this information. “They’d recognise you and tell everyone.”

“Yes.”

“And admit to using drugs and purchasing black-market goods by doing so?” She raised an eyebrow.

“I suppose you have a point.”

“Of course I do. If anything, you’ve probably got more dirt on _them_.”

 _Do I ever_ , he thought. “Nothing in writing, though. Besides, they could come up with some way to cover themselves, just say they saw me doing it somewhere else.”

“Then it’s all hearsay!”

“And would anyone take my word over theirs, any more than they’d take Dorium’s? I’m on my own here.”

“There’s me.”

Rose held John’s hand and looked up at him with such certainty and empathy that he nearly wept. He kissed her instead. “For that, I am truly grateful, but it’s still too risky. For all I know, my name is in a ledger somewhere, or my face in a picture, or there’s someone who just has nothing to lose. And those are just _my_ enemies, what about your family’s?”

“I’m pretty sure we don’t have any,” Rose said.

“As far as you know. Your father might feel otherwise.” John sighed again. “There’s always someone who’d benefit from someone else’s fall, whether they’re explicitly against them or not.”

“So we find them out,” Rose decided. “We brainstorm, make a list of anyone who might know about you, or who might wish us harm. We see who overlaps, or who we should investigate further. Jenny and Vastra would help, I’m sure.” She got to her feet and began pacing, then seeking out pen and paper. 

John caught her hand and stilled Rose in front of him. “Brilliant, Rose Tyler.”

“It’d just be a start, but it’s something. Better than doing nothing and moping.”

“You are absolutely right,” he said, but took the writing supplies from her. “I did have somewhat different plans for this afternoon, though.”

“Did you now?” Rose smiled.

“Yep,” John said, and pulled Rose onto his lap. “And they didn’t involve thinking about people who could ruin our lives.” He nuzzled her nose with his and kissed her, wrapping his arms around her to draw her close. Rose twined hers around John’s neck and returned his kiss eagerly, shifting in his lap and scraping her fingertips through the short hair at the nape of his neck.

John hummed against Rose’s lips, happy that she’d found a sensitive spot, and that she’d taken him up on his idea. It was a bit emotionally exhausting to go over that part of his past, even if he’d still edited it significantly. 

Rose cradled John’s head in her hand and placed lingering kisses along his jaw to behind his ear - another favourite spot of his. “I’m not letting this go again,” she murmured. “Not without a fight.”

“Never,” John gasped, claiming her mouth again, slipping his tongue past her lips and teeth as his hand gripped her knee. He collected his wits enough to loosen his hold and find the hem of her dress with his fingertips and insinuate them underneath the fabric. 

It was Rose’s turn to squirm, and John tried to tamp down on the arousal building in him, a challenge whenever she moved against him. He focussed on his hands and lips, and her reactions to them - answering her tug on his earlobe with a nip near her collar, her hand in his hair with his finding the top of her stockings. He traced the edge of the soft silk back and forth, from the outside to almost the inside of her thigh, skipping around the little clips holding them up. On each trip he moved a little closer to where her thighs pressed together, making the occasional detour up and under the short leg of her chemise, or to the other leg, where he repeated the movements. The whole time John kept studying Rose’s face, when it wasn’t buried in his shoulder or pressed against his in a kiss.

“Rose,” he said, moving his free hand up between her shoulder blades. “May I-”

“Please, John,” she gasped as he encouraged her legs to separate, inching closer to the warmth at their apex. With Rose clutching his shoulder, he managed one cautious swipe of his finger through her wet folds, then another, when they heard the key turn in the lock.

They jumped apart, Rose stumbling to her feet while she adjusted her dress and John set his hair to rights. They assumed their earlier tea-drinking positions, though their drinks were cold, just as Vastra and Jenny entered the parlour.

“Oh hello!” Jenny said. “We didn’t think you’d be in. We’re just popping by for a few supplies and then we’ll be right back out again.”

“How has your day been?” Vastra asked, looking both of them over with a critical eye. 

“Fine!” John said at the same time Rose said “Lovely!” They saw their hostesses’ eyes flit back and forth over them, and hoped their faces weren’t too red and that nothing was askew. 

“All right,” said Vastra. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”

As soon as the women had left, front door locking behind them, John and Rose burst into giggles. 

“Come on,” Rose said, getting up to kiss John quickly. With a glance down at his lap, she added, “Get yourself sorted, we’re going out for dinner tonight.” She scampered upstairs, leaving John to collect himself from the couch. 

***

Ever perceptive, Lord and Lady Powell had picked up on the tension between Rose and John over the past little while, and remarked upon its disappearance when they returned from the City. 

“I’m so glad you two aren’t fighting anymore,” Lady Powell told Rose at tea one afternoon.

“We weren’t fighting, Mum,” Rose said.

“Well you certainly weren’t friendly,” she remarked. “I wanted to put a coat on whenever the two of you were in the same room, it was so frosty.”

“We had a minor disagreement or two, perhaps, but we weren’t fighting.”

“Whatever you say, dear. So long as it’s over. I don’t think we could bear having the two of you apart.

Rose held her steaming teacup close to her lips, hoping the heat might disguise her blushing.

***

John, meanwhile, was suddenly planning another visit to Dr. Shaw’s surgery. Stuart had ordered an assortment of his beloved health tonics for his brother to peruse, and John found a few more for her and Martha’s collection. 

“They don’t even say what’s in them,” John said, sorting through bottles and tins.

“Sure they do!” Stuart insisted. “See here? Medicinal herbs, roots, and concentrated cassis extract.”

“Cassis is French for blackcurrant, Mr. Hoskins,” John said. “You’re drinking blackcurrant cordial with some unspecified plants and what smells like very cheap gin.” He wrinkled his nose as he capped the bottle in question. It, too, bore a Torchwood stamp, like so many others. 

“Don’t mean it can’t be useful!”

John barely resisted rolling his eyes. Lord Powell saved him, sort of, by changing the subject.

“I trust you and Rose had a productive visit to the City,” he said.

“We did, my lord,” John answered. “Everything seems to be well in hand.”

“I take it your friends were happy to see you?”

“Oh yes,” he said. “And they adored Lady Rose.”

“Splendid. You’re welcome to invite them to visit whenever you like. Do they enjoy hunting? Perhaps they could join us this fall.”

John laughed. “Maybe. They’re such city ladies I have a hard time picturing them in tweed, but I will ask, thank you.”

“And you and Rose are getting along well?”

“Of course we are.”

“You seemed a little distant before you left.”

John shook his head. “We were just a bit busy and distracted, that’s all.”

Lord Powell raised an eyebrow. “If you say so.”

***

September brought an excellent apple harvest, the children returning to school, and cooler evenings. John was incredibly pleased with the state of the House - the important safety and structural concerns were all repaired, the public rooms were beautifully cleaned and put together, and everything was sealed up tight for winter. Lady Powell still had a few things she wanted done on the decorating front, but it was decided to give the boys a break to focus on school.

It also brought an announcement from below stairs: Lance Bennett had proposed marriage to Donna, and she had accepted. They were considering a Christmas wedding, and she came up to the library with Mr. Mott and Mrs. Smith to tell the family one afternoon. Lady Powell was dismayed at the prospect of finding another lady’s maid, but embraced Donna and cooed over her engagement ring with Rose all the same.

“That’s rather soon, isn’t it?” John asked. Rose gave him a gentle swat and mouthed _Rude!_ to him. “I’m sorry. Congratulations, I’m happy for you. It just seems a bit sudden to me.”

“They’ve been courting all summer, John, don’t be silly,” Rose said. “Will you have help with the planning, Miss Noble?”

“Well, my mother lives rather far away, but I’m actually glad for that,” Donna laughed. “Gwen, Amy, and Mrs. Smith have offered their assistance, though.”

“Excellent. Let me know if you need anything at all,” Rose said, clasping Donna’s hands. “You deserve a wedding as brilliant as you are.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Donna said, and took her leave of the family. 

John still felt a little strange, so he found Donna later in the day to talk. He sat down across from her in the sewing room. “So you’re really getting married.”

“I know you don’t approve of Lance, John, but we love each other,” she said. 

John shook his head. “You’ll be moving to the City, I take it?”

“Yes, to his townhouse. But he’s looking at buying a house near the village. A summer home.” Donna smiled. “You’re not getting rid of me that easy, Spaceman. Bucknall’s grown on Lance.”

“Donna Noble,” John said, his face a model of seriousness. “I would _never_ want to be rid of you. Not ever. And as much as I don’t get along with Lance, he makes you happy. That’s all I ever want for my friends.”

Donna reached across the sewing table and squeezed his hands. “Thank you John.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here there be smut! Awwww yeaahhhh. I'm pretty stoked for this chapter, not just because of that, but because it was one of the earliest scenes I wrote and so it's been fun working my way up to it (and then editing it to account for all the things that changed since I first wrote it). I hope I did a decent job!

A late September morning found John fitting storm shutters on a number of windows around the House. Autumns in these parts were harsh and unpredictable, full of storms showing up with little notice and bringing down trees in their wake. He called the boys out from the village, getting everyone involved in the effort to secure the grounds.

From atop his ladder, he heard hoofbeats approaching and glanced down. “Good morning, Lady Rose!” he called.

She looked up and smiled at him from under her wide-brimmed hat. “Good morning, John! Getting us storm ready, I see?”

“That I am,” he said. “Best to get it done while the skies are still blue. And you’re having one last ride while the weather holds?”

“Well, hopefully we have another few nice days, but yes,” she said, adjusting in her side saddle. “I’ll probably take the trail by the creek, enjoy the leaves turning.”

“Sounds lovely.” John might’ve sworn he saw a twinkle in her eye, but from his perch it was hard to tell. She was definitely smiling with her tongue in her teeth, though if she was trying to tell him to follow her, he wasn’t going to be able. “I’ll be up here all day, I think, but at least the view’s nice.”

Her tongue disappeared and she nodded. “Well, good luck and be careful.”

“Thanks. Have a good ride, my lady.” And with that she headed off. John watched her until she was out of sight behind the trees at the bottom of the hill.

***

John finished with the shutters just in time. With a bit of help, they were done by tea, and he and the boys got their tools and ladders back in the shed as slate-gray clouds began gathering to the north-west. Thunder cracked through the air right when John had returned to his room to get ready for dinner, followed by an immediate opening of the skies. He dropped his dinner clothes and ran to check the windows, finding the other staff were already working on closing them up tight. He was coming down a back staircase when Donna grabbed his elbow and pulled him towards the Great Hall.

“Lady Rose is missing,” she told him on the way. 

“What?” 

“She went for a ride this morning and never came back. Lord Powell wants all the men to go out looking for her, that’ll include you, John.”

They arrived in the Hall to a bit of a commotion, with the family and their visitors all in their dinner clothes, Lady Powell wailing to a friend and Lord Powell directing Mr. Mott, Jack and the footmen to gather torches and rain gear. 

“I saw her leave this morning,” John said to Donna. “I know where she was going.” Panic rose in him - she would be by the creek, which was known to flood dangerously during heavy rains. “Oh bloody hell,” he muttered, and ran from the House to the stables as fast as he could, ignoring Donna’s shouts. He was drenched in moments, but all he could think of was getting on a horse and down to the creek. There were a few torches in the barn, and he grabbed one and saddled up the first animal he came to, flying from the shelter and down the hill. 

The creek was already swollen when he got to the trail Rose had mentioned, angry waters lapping at the banks. The low parts of the path were small lakes of their own, puddles coming up past his horse’s ankles and mixing the dirt into sticky mud. It slowed his progress but he urged the horse along as the path moved into the woods, shouting for Rose as often as his lungs allowed. She’d been out all day, there was no telling how far down the trail she’d gone before the rain started. Maybe she’d packed a lunch and a book and had settled down in some nice spot instead of riding the whole time. Maybe she’d noticed the weather changing and started home. Maybe she’d gotten stuck and decided to stay put, unable to see where she was going in the dark of the forest and aware that her family would send for her. Maybe she’d-

John pushed any darker thoughts from his mind and carefully guided his mount around a tight corner. He hoped he was right in assuming Rose was as familiar with this trail as he was. Landmarks were hard to make out in the torchlight, with rain clouding his eyes. He felt like he’d been out there for hours, when he finally heard an answer to his calls. 

“ROSE?!”

“OVER HERE!”

John wanted to cry with relief. Rose was on the other side of the bend, soaking wet, filthy and working at her horse’s feet, which were stuck in the mud and swirling water. This part of the creek had leapt its banks and was rising fast, weighing down Rose’s skirt and making her task even more difficult. Her hat was long gone, blonde hair fallen and matted around her face. John leapt down and joined her, digging clumps of mud away while she coaxed and calmed the animal. They worked silently until the horse was free and they could move both animals away from the creek, back into the trees. 

“Are you okay?” Rose asked.

John sputtered. “Me! Am _I_ okay- Oh Rose!” He pulled her into his arms and buried his face in her hair. “Do you have any idea how worried I was? How afraid everyone back at the house is? I’m so glad you told me where you were going, we could have been out here for ages looking for you, you-you could have-”

Rose shushed him with a hand on his lips, pulling back to look at him. “Thank you. Thank you for finding me.” 

He could see the slightest bit of terror in Rose’s eyes and knew it was only a fraction of what she must be feeling, of what he knew what was written all over his face. He brought one hand to her cheek, sliding it over her jaw and tangling his fingers in her soaking hair, before leaning in and kissing her soundly. He held her tightly against him, could feel her clinging to his shirt, could feel her body pressed to his, her lips and tongue returning his affections and desperation and relief. They broke apart for breath, foreheads together, still panting from the exertion and the kiss. 

“We should head back,” she breathed.

John shook his head. “The trail was in rough shape on my way here, it’ll only be worse now. I know somewhere we can go.” 

They took their reins and each others’ hands, and John led them back a little way and then off the trail, into the trees. He followed an old, overgrown path for a few hundred metres until they reached a ramshackle cabin, out of sight from the main trail. 

“Wasn’t this the old groundskeeper’s place?” Rose said. 

“You know it?”

“I used to play here sometimes as a child. I didn’t realise it was still standing,” she said. The covered porch was as much shelter as they were going to get for the horses, so they tied them up and went inside. John took the torch and inspected the room, eventually finding matches and an oil lamp to light, while Rose stood by the door, rubbing her arms. “Looks a lot better than it did when I was little.”

“I’ve been fixing it up,” John admitted, putting the lamp down and handing Rose the torch before kneeling with his back to her in front of a heavy wood stove to start a fire. “There are still some leaks in the roof over the kitchen but this part should be fine.” Truth be told, John had been planning to bring Rose out to the cabin once he was done working on it. So many of the books she read featured cozy forest hideouts, home bases to explore the trees from, and he’d thought she’d like it. He was secretly pleased that he’d guessed right. 

Rose smiled at him, taking in the space. The stove was in the middle of the wall to her right, with the utilitarian kitchen just past it. Sure enough, a few buckets were catching drips in that corner of the room. Near the stove was a table and two chairs, and on her left was a wardrobe, a side table, and a small, neatly made-up camp bed. Rose raised an eyebrow. “Have you been expecting someone?”

“Sorry?” John said, rising from where he finally had a fire going.

She nodded at the bed as she shucked her riding coat. “You’ve got blankets and everything out here.”

“Ah. Yes. Well, cheers the place up a bit,” he said, trying to jam his hands in his pockets and realising how wet they were. “We’d, um, better dry off before we catch cold.” He moved suddenly, drawing a string hung in loops by the door across the corner near the stove and attaching it to the other wall. “We can hang our wet clothes here. I- I won’t - erm -” He dragged the kitchen chairs close to the stove, took Rose’s coat and draped it over the back of one. “I’ll go get more firewood from the porch while you change. And bring the horses some blankets. I think we have towels here too- Yes.” He pulled two thick blankets from the wardrobe and headed for the door but Rose stopped him.

“John?”

“Yes?” he squeaked. 

She turned around and pointed at her back. “I’ll need a hand with this blouse. I can never get it on my own.” There was a column of buttons fastening the back of the neck, something Gwen would have helped her with that morning. 

“Oh. Yeah, right, okay.” John stepped up behind her, and gently moved her hair aside. He hoped she couldn’t feel his breath on her neck as he carefully slid each of the half-dozen buttons through their little loops, exposing a little more of her pale skin each time. He hesitated, not letting go of the fabric for a moment, studying the top edge of her chemise that had appeared, before quickly stepping back. “There. All set. Getting more firewood. Be right back.” He disappeared through the door before she could thank him, leaning against the wall outside to catch his breath. The horses looked at him mournfully. “Sorry guys. Not much room in there for you two.” 

He took his time checking over the animals, taking off their wet saddles and draping the blankets over their backs. They were fine, but John wanted to give Rose some privacy, and he needed to slow his racing thoughts. He wasn’t going to pretend that nothing could happen, he wasn’t even going to pretend that he didn’t _want_ anything to happen, but what he wanted and what he felt able to do were entirely different things. It wasn’t fooling around in the Tower or on a friend’s sofa, it felt different. Desire was muddled up with anxiety, guilt, and bad memories; not things he wanted to be sharing with Rose. Not now. Not like this. John took a deep breath and gathered up an armload of firewood from underneath an oilcloth tarp, and went back inside. 

The first thing he saw was all the various pieces of Rose’s riding habit hung up on the line by the stove, and his mouth went dry. He dropped the wood and turned around. Rose was in the bed, the quilt draped over her lap and the sheet tucked under her armpits. She was pulling pins from her hair and combing it out with her fingers, watching him carefully in the flickering lights. He swallowed hard. “Better?”

“Yeah,” she said. “The water in those buckets is cold but it did the trick to get all that mud off.”

“Good.” He added another log to the stove and prodded the fire. “I’ll, um, just curl up on the floor here. You can have the bed.”

“Nonsense, the floor’s really damp.” She shifted and John realised she was trying to make room for him.

“I- I really don’t think it’s appropriate-” 

“And anything else we do is?” she challenged. “I’ll just stay on this side.” She didn’t break his gaze, just reached and turned down the opposite corner of the blanket. The bed was hardly large enough to have ‘sides’ to it, but she was insistent. “Get dried off and come here. It’s been a long day.” 

John nodded and fumbled with his waistcoat and shirt buttons, wishing that the only reason his hands were shaking was the cold. He took deep breaths as he undressed and spread out his clothes to dry, checking over his shoulder to find that Rose had laid down and closed her eyes, affording him a bit of privacy. Finally he climbed into bed, turning off the lamp and carefully arranging himself on his side at the edge of the mattress, focusing on the warmth Rose’s body had created under the blankets. She shifted to face him, waiting until he was settled to open her eyes. 

“Hi,” he whispered. 

“Hi,” she said. “Thank you again.”

“It’s no trouble.”

“I hope the others don’t spend all night out there looking for me.”

“I think they’ll be okay.” The space between them was narrow and impossibly wide. “As soon as it’s light we’ll head back.”

“Yeah.” Her arms were in front of her chest, one hand under the pillow, and the other tentatively crossed into the chilly no-man’s land. “We should get some sleep.”

John was little inclined to do that, and Rose seemed to feel the same, with her eyes wide and flecked with gold in the faint light from the stove. John carefully moved his own hand to cover hers, and she entwined their fingers. Her skin was freezing, but warmth shot through his arm and percolated down his chest into the pit of his stomach. Under the howling wind and rain beating against the windows, John could hear Rose taking long, slow, deliberate breaths, and he tried to match them. It wasn’t helping. His top arm was free, and he reached to stroke her damp hair, tucking it behind her ear and brushing the backs of his fingers across her cheek. Rose’s eyes drifted shut and she hummed quietly, as John kept caressing her skin.

This was okay. This he could do without worrying that he was going to mess something up and embarrass himself. This was safe. Until Rose opened her eyes again. 

“You’re staring at me,” she murmured. 

John’s fingers ceased their ministrations, stopping along Rose’s jaw. “You’re so beautiful,” he blurted out, and she smiled. 

“So are you.” She turned her head and kissed his palm, nuzzling it softly, then pulled her free hand from under the pillow and placed it against John’s chest, ghosting her fingers over his collarbones. He held himself together enough not to jump out of his skin, but still shuddered more than Rose expected. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, yes, I’m all right, your hands are freezing.” He took them in his and rubbed them together. They weren’t that cold. Rose knew.

“John, it’s okay if you’re uncomfortable. I know this is weird, and sudden, and not what we were really expecting today.”

He laughed nervously. “Got that right.”

She smiled and continued on. “Nothing has to happen tonight. We can just go to sleep, talk about it later, wait until we’re somewhere a little warmer. But I’ll be honest,” she said, and John saw a little bit of her confidence waver, “I am probably not going to be able to fall asleep. I’m probably going to try to curl up close and tell you I’m cold when I really just want to touch you. When I really- when I really just _want_ you.” 

John vaguely registered that Rose was still talking, telling him that she wouldn’t take it any further than he was okay with, that she was happy as long as they were together, but the only way he could think of answering was by kissing her. It was softer, less desperate than when they’d been outside, but her fingers still gripped his tighter in response. 

“I would be okay with any of those options, Rose Tyler,” he said. “Just a little petrified of getting things wrong.” That was the tip of the iceberg, but his brain was dangerously close to shorting out. “It’s been- I haven’t-”

“Done this in a while?” Rose supplied.

“Not with anyone who has meant anywhere near as much to me as you do.” 

Rose smiled, freed her hands and slipped one into his hair, down to the back of his neck. “Then it’ll be much better than the last time.” She brought his lips to hers, and as he allowed her tongue entrance she slid her toes against his feet and ankles, and he jumped again.

“Now _those_ are freezing!” 

“Then warm me up properly,” she teased, and John remembered his hands, lying uselessly in front of him. He found her waist and caressed her soft skin, wrapping his arm around her back and holding her to himself. Once again she was clutching at him, molding herself to him, but without the barrier of clothes and the cold rush of rainwater. 

Every point of contact sparked and surged through him, heat and desire descending on his cock. There were so many tricks John knew, hundreds of things he could do to make someone fall to pieces, melt into a puddle, turn to putty in his hands - but he didn’t know if Rose would enjoy them, and that was the point, wasn’t it? He took a deep breath, and _ohh_ , she smelled like damp leaves and old books and fresh sheets, she was doing _that_ with her tongue behind his ear, and he had to muster all his effort to speak.

“Rose- tell me if- if this is okay-”

“Yes!” She clutched at his hair and any skin she could reach, drew her knee up and hooked her leg over his hip. John tried, and failed, to not rut artlessly into her, against the warmth between her thighs that was so close to his cock now. “You- you too, you tell me-”

“Oh yes,” he gasped, and his hands started to move. Up and down her spine, making her arch into him. Across her stomach, the soft curve of her belly, making her sigh. Over her ribs, making her squirm and giggle because it tickled. Along the underside of her breasts, between them and over them, gently circling his thumbs over her nipples, making her curse and breathe his name. John took the opportunity to move his mouth to her neck, gently turning her onto her back, sliding his hand down to her hip and over her thigh and back up, again and again, detouring to her chest and arms and stomach and finally the inside of her knee, teasing and testing the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, higher and higher on each visit until Rose dug her nails into his arms. 

“Can I-”

“ _Yes_ ,” she gasped, parting her legs, welcoming his fingers through the curls around her centre. “Yes, John, _please_!” 

John pressed his forehead to her shoulder and groaned at the sensation of her slick folds and the juices coating his fingers as he slowly pushed one inside her. His hips moved of their own volition, pulsing against her side in time with his thumb circling her clit. As his world shrunk down and erased everything but the two of them and the creaky bed, John began to ramble, hushed words of encouragement and pleasure falling from his lips between Rose’s shaking moans. She pleaded for more and he obliged her with a second finger, pumping them faster, but she shook her head and wedged a hand between them. 

“I meant this,” she said, grasping his erection and squeezing gently. 

“Fuck, Rose,” John exhaled into the pillow, before raising his head and looking her in the eyes. “You sure?”

“Absolutely.” She gave his cock a few experimental strokes and smiled at his reactions. “Are you?”

“Oh yes. Yes, definitely, one hundred percent, totally on board with that,” he grinned, and he let her guide him over her fully and settled his hips between her thighs. Rose giggled at his gushing and leaned up to kiss him. “Anything involving you,” John said once she released him, “I am in favour of. Anything you want.”

Rose was in favour of rocking her hips to let him slide through her folds, of cupping his arse and holding him close as he slowly entered her. She was warm, and wet, and she was squeezing him from the inside and John was probably saying everything he was thinking out loud but he didn’t even care. He probably said that last bit out loud too because she laughed again. 

“Let me pull the blanket up. You’re going to get cold,” she said. John hadn’t noticed the quilt had slipped from his shoulders but she tugged it up over his back and slid her hands down his chest as he chuckled. 

“You’re a marvel, Rose Tyler,” he said, kissing her and pressing his forehead to hers. “Tell me if you want me to stop, or do something different, or anything-” 

She cut him off with a finger on his lips. “Same goes for you. But I want you to move. _Please_.”

John nipped playfully at her fingertip and happily obliged, losing himself in the push and pull, the in and out, the back and forth of their bodies together. His babbling started up again in earnest, with something in the back of his head hoping Rose didn’t mind it and quickly disappearing when she locked her ankles at the small of his back and drew him in deeper. There were twists of her hips, and his hand working its way to her clit, and Rose becoming more vocal while John got quieter. 

Soon Rose began to quiver beneath him, words turning first to whimpers and then cries of his name. John urged her on until she broke with a shout, throwing her head back against the pillow and snatching his hand from her over-sensitive centre. He drove forward to kiss her hard one more time before burying his face in the sweat-slicked hollow of her neck, tasting salt as he chased his own release. With Rose still pulsing her inner walls around him deliberately, it came blessedly soon. John chanted her name into her skin as the tension snapped and he spilled inside her, his thrusts eventually slowing to a stop and elbows threatening to collapse. 

Rose kissed his forehead and stroked his hair and back as his breath evened out. “Oh Rose,” he mumbled. “Bloody hell, you’re brilliant. And beautiful. And other superlatives that start with B.” She laughed, and hummed in disappointment as John carefully withdrew from her, catching his seed in his hand. He wiped it on some far portion of the quilt as he rolled off her, making a mental note to wash the blanket later. It was much more important that he take Rose in his arms, and she snuggled into his side, their warm skin melting together. 

It occurred to him, as he drifted off to sleep, that at in the middle of everything his anxieties had disappeared. He couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment, they’d just kind of faded away, until only he and Rose remained.


	22. Chapter 22

John was used to getting up with the sun, and his internal clock woke him bright and early. There was a bit of hazy sunlight filtering through the trees and the windows, not doing much but reminding him to clean the glass soon. It certainly didn’t wake up Rose. _Rose_. John’s mind began to race a little. Lady Rose Tyler, in bed with him, in the middle of the woods. _Fuck_ , he cursed to himself. She was still wrapped around him, head pillowed on his chest and her arm and leg thrown over his body. John forced himself to slow down a moment and just enjoy it while it lasted, kissing her hair and breathing her in. He tried to rouse her gently, just brushing his knuckles over her upper arm, slowly exposing her skin to the cool air in the cabin. “Rose,” he murmured. “Time to wake up.”

She grumbled and tried to burrow back under the blanket. John chuckled and shifted down with her, and she pulled the quilt over their heads. “Nope. Not yet.”

“Is my lady not a morning person?” he teased, and she poked him in the ribs in retaliation. “Come on, sweetheart. We need to get home.”

“This should be our home,” she muttered. “Then we’d already be there.”

Rather glad he was lying down, John felt dizzy as he processed that thought and pushed it aside. Best to not go there. Instead he found her lips in the dark under the covers with his own. “Alas, it is not. Besides, we don’t have any food here. Or clean clothes.”

“We’ll forage and hunt. And we can be naked all the time.”

“Mmm. I’ll keep that in mind so next time you get caught in a thunderstorm the cabin will be ready with hunting gear,” he said. “But I’d also rather get back before the search party finds us, yeah?”

“Shit. Yeah.” Rose finally emerged from under the covers, rolling onto her back with one arm over her eyes. John kissed her again, long and deep, before finally getting out of bed.

“Looks like our clothes aren’t completely dry, but they’ll do,” he said, checking the line and making sure the fire in the stove was out before getting dressed. Rose wasn’t far behind, and John helped her with the buttons of her blouse again, a little sad to be doing them up, sadder to see her shimmy into her riding trousers. She didn’t bother with the apron skirt of her habit, and the heavy fabric of her coat was still far too wet, so John wrapped another blanket around Rose’s shoulders and she turned in his arms to face him. “You okay?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” she said. “Why, are you?” 

“Yeah! Yeah, very okay. _Molto bene_. Just wanted to make sure you were alright, after-”

“John, I’m not some blushing virgin. And you were fantastic, seriously, I have no idea where you learned some of that stuff but whoever taught you deserves a medal.” John must have looked stricken or something, because she suddenly got quiet. “Hey.” Rose lifted a hand to his cheek and stroked it gently, drawing his gaze back to hers. “I’m not making fun of you. It meant a lot to me. And so do you.”

He smiled weakly, let her kiss him. “Thank you. It meant a lot to me too. I- I’m glad, and- oh hell.” He pulled at his ear, stepped away and started pacing. “It’s not just that, it’s- for us. That was wonderful, and I’d like it to happen again but… but it can’t, can it? Not really. You’re you, and I’m me, and the consequences if we were caught, or- oh fuck, what if you get pregnant, Rose? You’d be ruined, and your parents would kill me, and then your mother would raise me from the dead and kill me again, and-”

“John! Stop it!” 

He shut his mouth quickly. Rose didn’t shout very often; normally when he rambled she cut him off with a kiss. This time she looked defiant and angry, though she softened when she saw his shock.

“I know this isn’t easy. I know this isn’t _allowed_ to happen. I know the risks of being with you, and I chose you anyway,” Rose said quietly, taking his hands. “We’re working on it, remember? We’ll take our time. We’ll slow things down. But we’re not giving this up.” She stood on her toes to kiss him softly. “It’ll be okay. Let’s go home.”

John nodded soberly. Anything he could think of to say would just get them both upset, and they really did need to get back. He and Rose tidied up the room and readied the horses, walking them through the worst parts of the muddy trail. They said little, other than commenting on how the rain had stopped. When the ground became less treacherous, they climbed up on the horse John had brought, Rose in front of him, settling back against his chest. John rested his chin on her shoulder and breathed her in, knowing they wouldn’t get much time alone together once they returned. He squinted in the hazy light, her tangled hair against his cheek, and took in the determined set of her jaw. He wished he could be half as confident as she was about their prospects. 

They crested the hill and the building came into view. John sighed at the number of tree branches strewn about the lawns and gardens, but was relieved that the storm shutters appeared to have held. He guided the horses onto the driveway and up to the front door, dismounting first.

He stood in front of her, hands at the ready to help her down, and she hesitated. “John,” she repeated. “We _will_ be okay.” As if saying it again was all they needed to make it true. 

John nodded and smiled weakly, but then there was a shout from the front door. 

“They’re back!” Lord Powell called into the house, rallying the family and the staff. “Rose! John!”

The pair nodded at Rose’s father, and John took hold of Rose. “My lady,” he said, trying not to let his hands linger at her waist any longer than was appropriate as she dismounted. 

“Thank you, John,” she said, squeezing his upper arms in acknowledgement before she was swept up by her mother and John was pulled away by Donna and Jack. 

“You bloody idiot!” Donna cried, smacking John on the arm and then wrapping him in a huge hug. “Running off like that, all by yourself, if you knew where she was you should have said so and brought someone along! Nobody in the house slept the whole night, upstairs or downstairs, we were so worried about you both!”

“I’m sorry, Donna,” John mumbled, extricating himself only to get a similar treatment from Jack, and a stern admonishment from Mr. Mott. He had a hard time keeping his eyes off Rose, even with the small crowd of people ushering them into the house, everyone chattering about how they’d worried and paced and searched through the night. Rose kept insisting she was fine, telling her parents that they’d stayed in the old cabin, but let her mother fuss over her anyway. Jack and Donna aimed to do the same with John, but Lord Powell stopped everyone before they could get to the stairs. 

“Before we all turn in for some much needed rest, I want to thank Mr. John Smith here for finding our Rose and bringing her home safe and sound,” he announced. Someone among the Tylers’ guests started clapping, bringing the whole group to applause. John blushed and his hand went for the back of his neck. “I speak for the whole family when I say how grateful we are for your efforts, and for your devotion to Bucknall House as a whole. Your service and this deed will not go unrecognized.” He shook John’s hand vigorously, clasping both of his around it. “Now get some rest, son. We’ll speak more tomorrow.”

“Thank you, my lord. It was no trouble at all,” John said, a little dazed. He tried to focus on Lord Powell, and then where he was walking, but his eyes kept wandering back to Rose, watching her head up the grand staircase, until her mother shut Rose’s bedroom door behind them.

***

Lady Powell immediately hustled Rose into a bath, ordering Gwen and Donna to get the water hot, find more blankets, and start the fire in Rose’s bedroom. Rose felt part of herself want to argue, but she was exhausted and grateful to be home, groaning appreciatively as her sore muscles sunk into the almost-too-hot water. She leaned back against the tub, closing her eyes, taking a deep breath, and ducking her head underwater.

Her mum had came into the bathroom and was sitting in a chair by the tub when Rose surfaced. Wiping water from her face, Rose realised Lady Powell was crying. “Mum? Mum, what’s wrong?” She made to get up but Lady Powell stopped her. 

“I’m all right, sweetheart. I’m just so glad you’re okay, we were so worried!”

“I’m sorry,” Rose said, reaching over to take her mother’s hand. “I wasn’t even all that far away, I was going to try to take the loop, but it started raining so hard that I turned back. The path was already ruined, and we got stuck in the mud. I don’t know… I don’t know what I’d have done if John hadn’t come when he did.”

Lady Powell encouraged Rose to lie back in the tub again, and set about washing her daughter’s hair. “Miss Noble said he told her you’d said where you were going,” she said. “It’s lucky he knew.”

“Yeah,” Rose sighed, relaxing as her mother’s fingers massaged her scalp. 

“I can’t believe you spent the whole night out there!”

“The trail was flooded, we wouldn’t have made it through,” Rose said. “Remember the old groundskeeper’s place? It was close by, we stayed there.”

“I didn’t realise that place was still standing.”

“It’s a bit of a mess, but it was cosy.” She dunked her head again to rinse out the shampoo and when she came back up, Lady Powell had a different sort of concern on her face. “What?”

“I didn’t say anything.” Rose turned back around and Lady Powell began combing knots out of her wet hair.

“John was a complete gentleman, Mum. There was a cot but he offered to sleep on the floor.”

“And I’m sure _you_ were a complete lady.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means the Dean of Women wrote to me about the number of times you were caught sneaking in and out of your dormitory,” Lady Powell said. Rose couldn’t help thinking she’d pulled at that particular tangle rather more forcefully than the others in order to make a point. 

“You want to talk about this _now_?”

Lady Powell set down the comb and pulled her chair around the tub to face Rose. “What I _want_ is to let you know that you’re incredibly lucky, Rose, to have only be caught out after curfew. Your dorm matron wanted to assume the worst, but the Dean and I convinced her otherwise.”

“This is completely different,” Rose mumbled, examining her fingertips as they slowly turned to prunes.

“You’re right. The little bubble you lived in there doesn’t exist here. There’s a whole group of people downstairs who know you spent the night in the woods with one of our family’s employees,” Lady Powell said. “If there hadn’t been a storm? If you both hadn’t come back looking like you’d been thrown in the mud? I’m not sure I’d trust them to keep their speculation to themselves, even if they are our friends. I could protect you from that while you were in school. I can’t anymore.”

“But _you_ can speculate all you want?”

“I’m your mother. It’s not speculation, it’s worry, because if I’m not mistaken, you’re in love with that man and I don’t want you to get hurt.” 

Rose was horrified. “How- what- Where did you get that idea? What makes you-”

“I know, Rose. I’ve seen the looks you give each other, the way you act when you think nobody’s watching, and how you weren’t yourself when the two of you were at odds. Your father and I were the same way, when we fell in love.” She smiled gently at her daughter, who had her face buried in her arms, knees drawn to her chest. “Nobody’s told me anything, as usual, but this time no one had to.”

“I need you to go, Mum,” Rose said from inside her crossed arms.

“Rose, I’m not upset-”

“GO! Please, just go!” Rose shouted, driving her fists into the water. Lady Powell obliged her, stopping Gwen at the door to tell her to give Rose a few minutes alone. 

She wasn’t mad at her mother, not really. She was just shocked, first that Lady Powell knew through sheer maternal instinct and experience, but mostly that she wasn’t absolutely furious with Rose. All this time she’d spent trying to make a suitable match, introduce her daughter to someone with the right credentials and station in life, and Rose had been playing along like her heart didn’t already belong to someone else. Rose would have expected her mum to confront her the second she suspected, to hit the roof at the suggestion, but instead she was, in her way, supportive. Maybe not of the relationship, but of Rose, at least. 

Rose stretched out in the tub again, and scrubbed the dirt from her body before the water went completely cold. Gwen came with towels and her dressing gown when Rose called for her, and got her settled into bed with a cup of tea. 

“Did you hear any of that, Gwen?” Rose asked. 

“Just your shouts,” Gwen said. “Is everything okay?”

“Apparently it is,” Rose sighed. “If you see my mother, let her know I’ll speak to her when I’ve had some sleep. And let John know I’m okay. Thank you for the tea.”

“Of course. Rest well.”

She finished her tea and snuggled under the blankets, suddenly very tired.

***

John had his own bath and hot tea, but he still got sick later. He developed a cough during his conversation with Lord Powell the next day (during which he had been offered a significant raise, which he tried to decline), chills the day after, and chest pains by that night. Dr. Shaw was called in from town and pronounced a diagnosis of bronchitis, directing him to rest and stay hydrated lest it turn into pneumonia. And of course, he kept working, developed a fever, and then couldn’t get out of bed if he wanted to.

John’s coughing often kept him from sleeping properly, and occasionally woke up the family in the middle of the nights. Some of the staff took it in turns to tend to him, and Martha or Dr. Shaw visited almost every day. After a while, John barely noticed this. As the week came to a close his fever worsened and breathing became more difficult, and he lay in a haze of half-sleep, losing track of time and the comings and goings by his bedside. There were moments, even, when he swore it was Rose holding a teacup to his lips and dabbing his brow with a cold flannel, but they were gone before he could really register anything. He was also pretty sure that his mother had been there at one point, which he knew was impossible. In a more coherent frame of mind he would have been upset by these febrile tricks. Instead he just drifted away again. Until one day, he didn’t. 

John could still barely lift his eyelids, but for once the dim light in the room didn’t hurt and the colours weren’t swirling. He squinted and groaned, his head still heavy and lungs still sore. But something felt nice on his chest. Someone’s fingers, rubbing a tingly salve in gentle circles over his bare skin. He hummed his appreciation, unable to form words with his dry tongue, and the motions stopped. 

“Donna! Donna, I think he’s waking up properly!”

John frowned as he tried to focus his vision. That couldn’t be right. _I must still be pretty sick if I’m still having these hallucinations_ , he thought. Another shape arrived by the bed and he looked up. Red on top. Definitely Donna. But the other one, the one next to him, perched on the edge of the bed, was blonde. Blonde? He blinked quickly and forced his eyes open the rest of the way. 

“Rose?” he croaked. 

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Rose said. He wasn’t hallucinating. It was definitely Rose. She took a glass of water from Donna and cradled the back of John’s head as he leaned up to drink it. Once he’d finished she let him lay back down and brushed his hair from his face. It was taking a lot of effort just to look at her but he kept at it. “You’ve had a fever the past few days but I think it’s finally breaking.” 

Donna placed a hand on his forehead and agreed. “He’s definitely a lot cooler. You’ve had us so worried, Spaceman.” 

“‘M sorry,” he mumbled. Both women looked exhausted, anxiety and relief mixing in their expressions. Rose’s hair wasn’t even up, just pulled into a braid that trailed over her shoulder. 

“None of that,” she said, taking his hand and squeezing it. “Just rest. Go back to sleep, we’ll have Dr. Shaw come by in the morning.” 

“I’ve been sleeping for ages,” he complained. 

“Not really, you’ve been tossing and turning. Hardly restful,” Donna explained. She checked her watch and sighed. “Lady Rose, it’s almost time for dinner. I must go attend to your mother.”

“Please tell Gwen I’ll be along shortly,” Rose answered. 

Donna nodded and left the room, but if she hesitated at the door and saw Rose lean over and press her lips to John’s forehead, she would keep that to herself.

“What are you doing here?” 

“Taking care of you, silly,” Rose said, offering him more water, which he sipped gladly. “You got sick from coming to find me, after all.”

“You shouldn’t, if you get sick too-”

“I’ll be fine,” she said. “Unlike you, I took it easy after we got back.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m not contagious.”

Rose waved him off. “You should go to sleep.”

He let out a jaw-cracking yawn, but kept looking at her after. “But I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” she murmured, stroking his hair again. “I’ll be right here. Go to sleep.”

***

John woke again a few hours later, much easier this time, and thought he was alone until he turned his head. Rose had stayed with him until he’d fallen asleep and was there again, in a chair next to his bed, reading a book by lamplight. She’d not changed out of her dinner clothes and the warm glow glinted off the beads on her dress and the diamonds dangling from her ears.

“Whatcha reading?” he asked hoarsely.

Rose’s head snapped up and she smiled, turning the book over in her hands. “Another adventure in the woods. I must say, they’re rather less romantic once you’ve experienced one yourself.” She placed her bookmark and put the book aside, moving to sit on the edge of John’s bed. 

“I dunno, ours was pretty romantic in the end.”

“We could have done without getting stuck in the mud and worrying the household to death,” she said, helping him take a long drink of water. She ran her fingers through John’s hair as he lay back down, eyes half closed and a lazy smile spreading across his face. “And we could definitely have done without you getting sick.”

“But then I wouldn’t have had the pleasure of you nursing me back to health.”

Rose laughed. “Not like you remember much of it.”

“Details,” John said. “But thank you.”

Rose’s expression softened, her eyes betraying how tired she was. “You really scared me, John.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Promise me you’ll take better care of yourself,” she said, thumb stroking his cheek. “I’d like to keep you around for a while.”

“I’ll do my best.” John wanted to say more, but was caught up in a coughing fit. Rose handed him a handkerchief and let him lean on her as he sat up, bringing up more phlegm than he cared to think about. He rested his head on her shoulder as the coughs subsided, filling his shaky breaths with her scent. She rubbed the same tingly salve from before into his back and chest, then settled him back down and tucked him in. “Stay a bit?”

“Of course.” She moved to sit against the head of the bed. John leaned his head on her hip and closed his eyes while she sifted her fingers through his hair, letting the gentle pressure lull him to sleep.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John recovers. Sir James makes a move. And John finds out who someone really is.

Rose kept tending to John as he recovered, bringing up soup, books, and her company as often as she could. Anthony drew a get well soon card for him, which John kept on his bedside table along with the toy car that he had made Rose bring with the card. A few more thunderstorms came through, and John worried about trees coming down and further flooding despite reassurances that everything was fine. He got more restless the better he felt, until Rose finally brought up some paperwork as a compromise to keep him occupied. 

“I’ve been up here for more than two weeks,” he complained.

“And you spent half of that barely conscious,” Rose retorted. “Dr. Shaw wants you to stay put until your lungs are clearer. She said another two days, probably.” John flopped over on his pillows with a loud sigh. “You’re so dramatic,” she laughed, settling down next to him and rubbing his back. “Here. I brought plans for the Harvest Festival.”

“Seriously? Event planning?”

“Hey, it’s hard work putting this stuff together,” Rose said, playfully jabbing him in the ribs with her elbow. “Where do you think I am when I’m not up here?”

“Oi, sick man here, take it easy.”

“Ah, so _now_ you’re sick,” she teased. “Here, take a look. This is the stuff from your end, all the farms participating and how their crops are looking. And here are the volunteers. We have a schedule to make.”

Though he wouldn’t admit it, sitting up and talking for the time it took to work out the volunteer schedule did take a lot out of him. Rose made him lie back down and he slept anyway. 

As predicted, a few days later Dr. Shaw pronounced him well enough to get out of bed and come downstairs. Anthony was thrilled, hugging John enthusiastically at his first breakfast back with the family and immediately asking when his next astronomy lesson was. 

“We’ll have to do them inside again, it’s getting too cold at night,” John said. “But how about you and Miss Clara find out what the weather might be like this weekend? Tell me what nights it’s going to be clear.”

“Might you be well enough to take part in the Harvest Festival next week?” Lord Powell asked.

“That’s up to Dr. Shaw, I’m afraid,” John admitted. “I have a feeling she won’t like the idea.”

She didn’t. John was told to take it easy, and was absolutely forbidden from going outside if it rained. While not as large a party as the summer fete, the Harvest Festival was still an important part of the local social calendar. There was lots to be done at that time of year bringing in the last crops and preparing the fields for winter, so work parties moved from farm to farm, dividing the labour and coming together at the end of the week for food and games on the green. 

Rose and Lady Powell had organised refreshments for each group, and while John had planned on getting out in the fields with Lord Powell and the others, it was out of the question now. To assuage his cabin fever, Rose brought him along to help on her side of things. If John snuck away to make adjustments on a tractor or help carry baskets of apples, at least she could keep an eye on him.

As much as Rose worried, she couldn’t help admiring him, much as she had when he was working on the House. Shirtsleeves rolled up, hands dirty, forehead damp with sweat under his cap - Rose found he was most beautiful in motion, going from place to place with his manic grin on his face. Unbidden, a memory of John moving above her - with her, _within_ her - sprang to mind and she shivered a little at the thought of her hands on those muscles once more. She wondered about the practicalities of a literal roll in the hay and chuckled to herself. Probably rather itchy, she concluded.

Unfortunately, John wasn’t the only man there grinning at Rose over sandwiches and glasses of lemonade. The harvest had drawn Sir James out of Peckham Hall more than once, and he seemed to be going out of his way to talk to Rose, even getting himself ordered back to work by an irritated farmer a few times. At tea one afternoon he sat next to Rose under the tree where she’d set up the picnic. 

“You and your father must be thrilled with the harvest this year,” he said.

“We are,” Rose answered. “The storms this year didn’t do too much damage.”

“Good, good,” he nodded. “And the rest of the estate is running smoothly?”

“Yes, everything is fine.” If Rose had been surprised by Sir James’s appearance at the harvest, she was completely flummoxed by this conversation. He was actively and politely speaking to her about _business_ , not a hint of condescension in his voice. He even asked about her hobbies and how her mother and Anthony were. Rose was too stunned to give any sarcastic replies or pretend to be bluffing her way through like she might have ordinarily. If it weren’t for how strange it was, it would have been a pleasant exchange, but Rose was on high alert the whole time. She was thankfully saved by the end of the lunch break and Sir James being called back by the farmer.

Rose and John stayed in the afternoon of the harvest festival party, citing John’s need to rest. They settled in the parlour, playing cards and discussing this and that. Rose took the occasion to bring up Sir James’s odd behaviour.

“I don’t like it,” John said.

“Neither do I,” Rose said, “but mostly I don’t understand it. It’s like he’s been replaced by another person.”

“More likely he’s got something up his sleeve,” John muttered.

“Have you made any progress on your list?”

“What? Oh, yeah, a bit. Why?” They had been reviewing the folks John was concerned about and sending Jenny and Vastra names to look into further. So far not much had come up. Some had died and John didn’t know, others had reputations stained enough that nobody would ever pay attention to them. The list was being whittled down, but slowly.

“Just thought I’d ask. I was thinking about it because, well… I was going to put Sir James on mine,” she explained. John looked a little surprised. “I mean, it makes sense. Powell’s a good title. Bucknall’s been doing a lot better lately. Mum still thinks he’d be a good match for me. He’d get access to a lot of money and land if we got married.”

“But you wouldn’t…”

“Goodness no,” Rose snorted. “He’s turning on the charm but I can see right through him. He’d try to shunt me aside like Bucknall was his birthright and not mine. If I get married, it’ll be in a true partnership, or not at all.”

John smiled a little at that. Sir James was pretty close to being on his list too - the only thing keeping him off was that John was fairly certain Sir James had no idea that he’d been involved with Dorium. He’d still been wearing his mask when they ran into each other at the Versailles, after all, and nobody had paid him much mind back in the spring when Dorium sent drugs for Sir James along with John’s building supplies. 

“Say you didn’t get married, or have children,” he said carefully. “Who would be your heir then?”

“Tony, then his descendents,” Rose said. “After that, Uncle Stuart’s line would be next. Hopefully it never comes to that, my cousins are almost as useless as their father.”

John fiddled with his cards, staring at them as if he was concentrating on what he would play next. The subject of Rose’s future rarely came up - it meant imagining a time without each other, and it made John very uncomfortable. Rose always seemed purposefully nonplussed when marriage became a topic, as if it were some far-off fact of some other life. He was used to swallowing his own feelings, and let Rose do the same.

John deliberately made a bad play so Rose would laugh at him and they could change the subject. They went over the lists again, as well as the latest news from Jenny and Vastra, slowly crossing off names and marking areas of concern. What they’d do about those people had yet to be decided, but by then the rest of the family came home and their work had to be put aside.

***

Another month, another payment to Dorium. The barkeep kept telling John that he could pay off the building supplies much faster if he just did a few ‘favours’ for him, but John was adamant. He continued setting aside a portion of his salary and delivering it to the Headless Monk every month. Once Dr. Shaw had cleared him to go back to work, he made his customary trip into town for the errand.

This time, however, John stopped dead in his tracks once he came through the door - there was a man at the bar. Leaving aside how baffling it was that Dorium appeared to have a real, live, customer, the man was entirely too well-dressed, at least from what John could tell by the back of his suit. 

“Ah, here he is, one of my best customers!” Dorium exclaimed. 

“I thought I was your only customer,” John said. “You’ve been keeping secrets from me, Dorium.”

Dorium scoffed. “This is an associate of mine from the City. John Smith, meet Harold Saxon.”

The man on the barstool turned to shake John’s hand, and the jolt from hearing the name Saxon turned to pure shock when he saw his face. It had been ten years, but he’d know it anywhere.

“John, I’ve never known you to not have anything to say,” Saxon said, shaking John’s useless hand.

“Koschei? What-”

“Oh, that takes me back,” he laughed. “No one’s called me that in years, but I suppose I can make an exception for an old friend.”

“I didn’t realise you knew each other!” Dorium exclaimed.

“We grew up together! Back in Gallifrey. Though John went by Theta Sigma back then. Anyone still call you that?”

“No,” John squeaked as Koschei - _Saxon_ \- continued to fill the silence with chatter, telling some inane story about childhood mischief. In another first, he sat himself down on a barstool, feeling his knees grow weak as the blood kept rushing past his ears. Dorium pulled a pint for him and John drank half of it down in three long gulps. It was awful beer, and the bitter taste snapped him back to the present. 

“So I hear you’re working up at the big house now,” was the next thing John heard Saxon say. Dorium had wandered off.

“Yeah. Almost a year now.”

“I met the Lady Rose at the fete in August. She said you’re agent of the estate!” He laughed, and it made John’s skin crawl. “Quite the climb for a teenage runaway from up north!”

“You don’t seem to be doing so bad yourself,” John said, “successful businessman that you are.”

Saxon adjusted his jacket, making a point of displaying his glittering cufflinks in the dull light of the bar. “We both made choices when we left home,” he said. “Mine just happened to be more profitable than yours. I’ve got the Versailles, H.C. Clements, Archangel - all part of Torchwood, all under my management.”

John took another long sip from his pint. “Tell me, how is Lucy doing?”

“She’s fantastic,” Saxon answered without batting an eye. “I moved her out of the club and into her own flat, very fashionable. Reinette wasn’t pleased, but then, she’s lost one of her favourites before and came out all right in the end.”

The look in Saxon’s eyes was cocky and challenging, daring John to confront him - about the Versailles, their past, anything - and John had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from rising to the taunting glances. For a moment, his terrible beer was the most interesting thing in the world. But his old friend still knew how to press his buttons after all these years.

“I do hope I’ll see Lady Rose again,” he said. “She seems quite charming, and so intelligent.”

“Leave her alone, Koschei,” John snapped, surprising himself at how he almost growled the words.

“Or what? You’ll tell my parents?” Saxon put a hand to his heart in mock fear. “Oh wait, you _can’t_ , they died along with yours. Or do you still forget that someone other than you lost their family that night?”

John felt his fingers stiffen around his glass, betraying the voice of reason telling him to just get up and leave. “She knows what you do,” he gritted out.

“And does she know what _you_ do? Or what you did?” John didn’t answer. “That’s what I thought. You probably want to make sure it stays that way. I don’t blame you, she’s a nice girl, but probably not _that_ nice. But then, you never wanted _nice_ , did you, Theta?” Saxon reached out and stroked John’s cheek with his fingertips. John recoiled. “You made me a lot of money for a while. Made a fair bit for yourself as well. You could do that again. Join me at the top this time. Sure, I’d have to take a few people out of your way, but just think - we could build an empire.”

John slid off the stool. “I don’t know what happened to you, Koschei. I don’t know if I want to know. But I think you need help, and not for your business.” He drew close, almost nose to nose. “It’s hurt people, and you don’t seem to care if it hurts more. We were taught better than that.”

Saxon laughed in John’s face. “If I was the gun, you were the bullets. You’ve done just as much harm as I have. But if it helps the almighty Theta Sigma to sleep at night in his righteousness, you can keep telling yourself that you’re some kind of martyr in all this. Keep Lady Rose pitying you for a while longer.”

John stepped back, shoving away from the bar. “You know what? Rose _does_ know about me. She knows about Gallifrey, she knows about the accident, and the City, and how I got to Bucknall. And she doesn’t care.” John was embellishing the truth, he knew, but he didn’t care. “I will _not_ let you hurt her or her family.”

“Who said anything about hurting anyone, Theta? Last I heard that was _your_ job.”

“No,” John said, shaking his head. “Not anymore. And never again.” With that, he stalked out of the pub, the money for Dorium forgotten in his pocket. He was practically shaking by the time he made it back to the House, having spent the walk replaying the scene and other episodes of his life over and over in his head, and barely resisted slamming the front door behind him.

***

Rose heard the front door shut and quick steps through the hall, but John was already halfway up the stairs when she came out of the library. “John? John, is that you?” Either he didn’t hear her or was ignoring her, because he turned the corner on the landing and his bedroom door slammed. 

She stared up the stairwell, frowning, giving John a few moments before going up after him. She could hear his pacing on the other side of the door, a thump, then silence. “John?” Rose knocked on the door, waited. “John, it’s me. Are you all right?” She knocked again. “John?”

A pale, stricken John opened the door. “What?”

“Don’t snap at me like that, not after stomping around and slamming doors,” she said, pushing past John into his room. “I came to see if you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” John said, closing the door carefully. “Sorry.”

Rose crossed her arms. “You don’t look fine. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” 

John sighed. “I might as well have,” he said, sinking into his armchair. “Someone I thought was long gone has actually been closer than I imagined.”

“I thought you were in town today.”

“I was. I was, and then I saw him, and I couldn’t- just-” He leaned his elbows on his knees and put his face in his hands. “I mean, I didn’t know for sure he was dead, but I didn’t think he was who he is.”

Rose sat down across from him. “Someone you used to know, then.”

He nodded. “Harold Saxon. Only he’s not Harold Saxon. At least, he wasn’t, when I knew him.”

“You know Mr. Saxon?” Rose asked.

“ _Knew_ him,” John clarified. “We were best friends as kids, but he was called Koschei then. We did everything together, even left town together. We had quite the childhood, and things got… weird, before he left.” 

“He left you?”

John nodded. “He had different ideas about what we should be doing, things I didn’t really approve of. So we parted ways.”

“He changed his name, and you never saw him again.”

“It’s been ten years,” John admitted. “His parents… they died in the same accident as mine. We should have been there too, but we were… somewhere else, together. So we survived. Neither of us handled that very well, I’m afraid. Part of why we ran away.”

“But he became a ruthless crime boss and you ended up here,” Rose answered, “and he _knows_ you’re here. He’ll have known for months by now, and hasn’t said anything.” 

“He knew where I worked in the City, too, after I left,” he said. “The whole time he knew. Even had his fingers in a lot of that business. I made money for him.” John shuddered.

“All that aside, it must have been strange to see him again.”

John nodded. “He got an opportunity and took it. This is where he ended up.” He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

“I’m sorry, John,” Rose murmured. “It must be hard.” John sighed again and got up, pacing. “What happened when you saw him today?” 

“He works with Dorium. Or rather, Dorium works _for him_ ,” John said. “Saxon’s in charge of that, and H.C. Clements, Archangel, who knows what else. It’s all under a company called Torchwood, but I’m not sure if he runs that too or not. Wouldn’t put it past him.” 

“H.C. Clements. Sir James’s company.” 

“If there’s anyone that’s a risk to us, it’s him.”

“But you’re friends.”

“We _were_ friends,” John corrected. “I don’t even know who he is anymore. Talking to him today, everything just felt _wrong_. And he’s been keeping track of me, even when I didn’t know he was there.” 

Rose crossed the room to where John had stopped by the window, reached out and turned his face to hers, stroking her thumb over his cheek. “It’s okay. You’re home now. He’s not watching you here.” 

John wrapped his arms around her shoulders and buried his face in her neck. “Yeah. I am home.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not super jazzed about this chapter because I was just trying to hammer it out in time to update on Wednesday (which I did on Tumblr, at least), but hey. It's a bit of a transitional moment anyway.
> 
> I do promise though that next week will be much better. That's something I wrote way back and it's Almost Time.

The re-discovery of his old friend shook John hard, and the reverberations lasted well into November. It wasn’t helped by Sir James’s continuing uncharacteristic friendliness to the Tyler household - he accepted and made more invitations, took an interest in Rose’s past studies, and flattered Lady Powell. He even brought presents to Anthony and wasn’t rude to John. Still, every time he came by, John couldn’t stop thinking about the connection to Saxon and his former life. Every visit left him perplexed and angry, exhausted from working at being polite company. Rose could only offer kind glances and squeezes of his hand under the table while in the moment, but opportunities to do much more were scarce these days.

Sir James’s one misstep, Rose felt, was encouraging Uncle Stuart. It was only natural - Stuart was thrilled to meet the man behind his favourite company, and Sir James couldn’t resist an enthusiastic H.C. Clements investor. The two struck up a friendship and Sir James spent much of the time he wasn’t trying to talk to Rose entertaining Stuart - taking him to the City, hunting together, talking shop on the golf course. At the very least it got Stuart out of the House, until autumn came to a definitive end.

Winter announced its arrival with plummeting temperatures and pale grey skies. Still, Sir James made his way over to Bucknall House for dinner that week, an awkwardly pleasant affair by all accounts. Mickey and Martha were also in attendance, and were able to witness first-hand the strangeness Rose had recounted to them. This time Sir James was taking an interest in Rose’s favourite books, Anthony’s lessons, and even John’s astronomy hobby. Many incredulous looks were exchanged when others weren’t looking, and they were relieved when Sir James excused himself fairly early from coffee in the library. Snow was expected that night and he didn’t want to be caught on the road. Lord and Lady Powell returned from seeing him to the door with tightness around their eyes and their mouths set in thin lines, but brushed it off.

“Just a little tired, love,” Lady Powell told her daughter when asked if everything was all right. “Nothing to worry about.”

***

A thick coat of snow coated the village overnight, and the pond near John’s workshop froze over. He carefully cleared it of snow when the headmaster called off school for the day, and a number of children from the village made the trek over with their skates. John went out with them for a while, though he wasn’t particularly good at skating. Still, his wobbling made holding Rose’s hands perfectly acceptable, as she helped him balance on his skates and fend off Anthony’s teasing. 

“I thought you were good at _everything_ ,” he said, standing over John’s supine form in a snowbank by the edge of the rink. 

“Nobody’s good at _everything_ ,” John said, lifting his head from the snow. “Be a mate and help me up then, eh?”

Anthony and Rose took John’s hands and tugged him back to his feet, steadying him and giggling when he threatened to fall over again. After one too many spills John retreated to his workshop, though Rose and Anthony stayed out long after the other children went home for supper, chasing each other in circles around the ice. 

Lord Powell joined John in the workshop after saying hello to the skaters and the two of them kept an eye on the pond while they attended to some business. 

“I must say, John, I never expected to make such a strong financial turnaround this year,” Lord Powell remarked. “Your work has been quite impressive.”

“Thank you, my lord. I think all that was lacking was another critical eye. Sometimes it helps to have that outside opinion,” he said.

“Indeed,” said Lord Powell. He stood from the desk and stretched, eyeing the clock. “We’d best start heading in, I suppose. Though I hate to interrupt Rose and Tony when they’re having so much fun.”

“Yeah,” John said, and the men stood at the window watching the siblings skate. Mostly he watched Rose - red-faced and laughing below her pink hat, her matching scarf trailing behind her. “They get along so well.”

“Jacqueline and I always worried about that, having them so far apart in age,” Lord Powell said. “Rose was so used to being an only child, and after she left for school, Tony got the same kind of treatment. But they never seem to resent each other.” 

“Lady Rose always laments not being able to spend time with Master Anthony when we have a lot of work to do,” John added. “She cares about him a lot.”

“That she does. I can tell you do too, and I appreciate that.”

“I love spending time with him. He’s a great kid.” John eyed the drawings and get well soon card from Anthony that adorned the wall by his workbench and the model car they’d made together up on a shelf. 

“I appreciate all you’ve done for Rose, too.”

“I don’t think I’ve done that much. She’s incredibly capable. Smarter than me, sometimes.”

“Oh, she’s brilliant, no doubt about that,” Lord Powell replied, “but I’ve been getting her involved in the estate since she was a teenager, and she’s never had as much confidence in her abilities as she has this past year.”

“Well, she finished college, she did well there,” John protested. “She’s got a knack for this stuff.”

“I think, perhaps, that it helps to have someone other than her parents believing that she’s able to run the estate because she’s talented and not just because she was born into it,” Lord Powell said. John jammed his hands in his pockets and gazed out the window, still feeling a little uncomfortable taking credit for anything. “Besides,” Lord Powell continued, “it’s wonderful seeing the two of you in love.”

“What?” John spluttered. “But- I- We’re not-”

“Oh, yes you are,” Lord Powell scoffed, smiling anyway. “I see you two, with your flirting and the smiles you only use with each other. Jacqueline and I have talked about it. You remind us of when we were your age and first met.”

“I’m sorry my lord. It’s totally inappropriate, it will stop immed-”

“Stop that nonsense,” he said. “I only ask one thing of you. Well, two.”

John was bewildered. “Anything, my lord.”

“First, you keep doing what you’re doing here. I know I haven’t had the best reputation for the way I’ve been running the place, but you’ve helped turn it all around. You and Rose, you’re a fantastic team and I don’t know what I’d do without either of you. Can you do that?” 

“Yes, my lord.”

“Second, and I know this sounds terribly cliche,” he said, turning and making sure John was looking him in the eyes, “but I need to know what your intentions are with Rose.” 

John returned Lord Powell’s gaze steadily. “I intend to make her happy, for as long as I can,” he said softly.

“I take it you aren’t sure how long that might be.”

“No,” John admitted. “We know it’s not… appropriate, for us to be together.”

“Well,” Lord Powell said, “for what it’s worth, I don’t care about that.”

“You- you don’t?” John was even more bewildered than he was at the start of the conversation.

“I don’t. Now, you obviously shouldn’t go public with your relationship, but I don’t disapprove,” he added. “All this is to say, John, that the second thing I ask is that you keep making Rose happy. Position aside, you’re a good match. You’re good for Bucknall, you’re good for each other.”

“Thank you, my lord. I don’t know what to say. Does she know you… approve of us?”

Lord Powell shook his head. “I’d like to speak with my wife about it, but you can tell Rose.”

The door creaked and cold air rushed into the workshop. “Tell Rose what?” she asked. 

John took in the sight of her and grinned. Flushed pink from the cold, dusted with snowflakes, smiling widely. “That it’s time we head back up to the House.”

Anthony pouted at the prospect as John helped him get his skates off, but he bounded ahead of them through the snow nonetheless. John took Rose’s arm and slowed her down, so Lord Powell trudged a few strides in front. 

“What is it?” she asked, looking up at John’s bright smile. 

He leaned down and nuzzled her icy nose, and surprised her with a kiss. “Your father knows.”

“He does?” Rose glanced over to Lord Powell’s retreating form.

“He does,” John said. “And he approves.”

“What did you say to him?”

“Nothing! He told me himself,” he said. “I just had to promise to stay here and make you happy.”

Rose lit up and pulled John down for another kiss. “Oh, that’s brilliant. Just brilliant.” They held each other close, barely able to meet each other’s lips properly from smiling, until a snowball thumped John’s back. 

“Eeewww!” Anthony was giggling while Lord Powell dusted snow off his gloves. Rose ran up the path and leapt to hug her father, and John jogged after her, sweeping up Anthony and threatening to dump him in a snowbank. They laughed the whole way up to the House, and Lady Powell jokingly chided them for their snowy state when they arrived. 

That night’s dinner was probably one of the most lighthearted John could remember - Stuart was out, so it was just the four of them, and all of them in a good mood. 

“Lord Powell and I have been discussing you two often lately,” Lady Powell said. “John, I’m told Peter spoke with you earlier today.”

“Yes, your ladyship,” John said. “I’m honoured by his trust and confidence. I hope you feel the same.” Rose reached over and grabbed John’s hand.

Lady Powell glanced at her husband quickly before turning back to Rose and John. “I have to say, you weren’t what I had in mind for Rose, but she’s happy, and that’s really all I’ve ever wanted. You _are_ happy, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Mum,” Rose said breathlessly. Her stomach was doing flips, and her mind was racing with questions, but her parents clearly weren’t finished talking.

“I’m also not pleased that you’ve been sneaking around, but I suppose we can’t expect much otherwise, given the situation,” Lady Powell continued. “We wanted to give you the chance to come to us yourselves, but something’s happened to force our hands.” 

John felt Rose’s grip on his hand tighten. “I’m sorry, your ladyship, your lordship,” he said. “We’ve been talking about it ourselves, but-”

“What’s happened?” Rose interrupted.

Lord Powell sighed and answered his daughter. “Sir James has requested permission to ask for your hand in marriage.”

John’s heart fell to his feet as Rose jumped to hers. “Are you _kidding_ me?” she shouted. Her chair toppled to the ground behind her, and John’s hand was suddenly empty as she transferred her grip to the edge of the table. “He did _not_. He was seriously playing at this the whole time? What the _hell_ for?”

John reached for her while Mr. Mott, who had been quietly attending to them, righted her chair. She jumped when he touched her arm, but stayed standing.

“Please tell me you didn’t say yes. _Please_.” 

“Sit down, Rose,” her mother said. Rose obeyed, still shaking. John covered her hand with his own but she kept staring steadfastly at her parents. 

“We told him what we’ve always told you,” Lord Powell said. “Who you marry will always be _your_ decision, but he’s welcome to ask.”

Rose groaned, putting her head in her hands. 

“It’s something you’re going to have to get used to, sweetheart,” Lady Powell said sharply. “Sir James may be the first, but he won’t be the last.”

“I know, I just wish you weren’t _encouraging_ him,” Rose said.

“I hardly think we did that, did we dear?” Lord Powell said to his wife. “You did warn him he might not get an answer he likes.”

“I certainly did,” she answered. “But Rose - and John, this is why we wanted you here too - like your father said, you _are_ going to keep getting proposals. You don’t have to accept them, but you can’t expect to continue your relationship with John this way.”

Rose nodded solemnly. John stared at his lap. 

“We’re well aware that we can’t force you to stop seeing each other - John, I meant what I said earlier. I want you to stay. Jacqueline wants you to stay,” Lord Powell said, and Lady Powell nodded in agreement. “We’re not asking you to make any decisions right away, but as I’m sure you’re aware, the two of you have a lot to think about. It’s not just about you, it’s about the whole family and the household.”

“Yes, Dad.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“In the meantime, none of this sneaking around, not with us at least,” Lady Powell said brightly, trying to alleviate the long faces across the table. “Mr. Mott, I’m sure we can count on your discretion?”

“Of course, my lady.”

“Thank you.” Turning back to Rose and John, she added, “Though I suppose once you’ve decided what you’re going to do, you might not need to sneak around at all. That would be nice.” 

“Jacqueline…”

“Oh don’t start, Peter. A woman can dream. Now Mr. Mott, how about that pudding?”

***

A slip of paper slid under John’s door while he was getting ready for bed. _West Tower._ Rose was waiting for him. At the top of the stairs he opened his arms and she melted into them, the soft fabric of their dressing gowns rubbing against each other as she hugged him tightly around his waist. 

“That was probably the most interesting combination of good news and bad news I’ve heard in a long time,” John said.

Rose chuckled weakly. “My parents are okay with us seeing each other but I should probably still marry someone else. Yeah, sounds like an interesting combination all right.” She paused for a moment, and John pressed a kiss to her hair. “Do you think Sir James will actually propose?”

“I wouldn’t put it past him.”

“I’m going to say no, you know that?” Rose asked, pulling back to look at him.

“I have no doubt you will give Sir James Stone the rejection he deserves,” John answered, brushing Rose’s hair behind her ear. She smiled and kissed him gently, and as they held each other quietly, John couldn’t help thinking that it was the suitors who weren’t total wankers he was worried about.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hashtag NotSorry.

Sure enough, within the week Sir James was asking to call on Rose for tea, and when he arrived he wasted no time in getting down to business. They exchanged pleasantries and inquiries after each others’ families, Jack set down a tray of tea and cakes, and Sir James launched into a spiel on the importance of the Stones and the Tylers in Bucknall. 

“...and how advantageous it would be to unite our wonderful families? That is, if you would agree to marry me.”

The sugar had barely dissolved in Rose’s tea. She laid her spoon down carefully and sat as straight as she could. “Sir James, while I’m flattered by your proposal, I must decline.” She continued before he could protest. “You’re correct that we, and our families, are in a unique position here. But I have known you for far too long to believe that such a union would be at all beneficial to my well-being or that of this estate. Our personalities and values do not align, and I can’t see either of us being at all happy as husband and wife.”

Sir James tightened his lips and his grip on his teacup. “This would mean a great deal financially to both our households.”

Rose stifled a laugh. “You see, this just shows that you don’t know me at all. There are many other things I must consider besides financial security.”

“I _have_ been making an effort.”

“Don’t think it hasn’t gone unnoticed,” Rose said. “But I haven’t found this new interest in me at all convincing.” She set down her tea and stood. “I hope you have a pleasant afternoon, Sir James.” 

Sir James stopped at the door to the parlour. “I don’t think you realise what you’re doing, Lady Rose.”

Rose raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond to the comment. “Have a safe drive home.” 

Jack was still waiting by the door, and after seeing Sir James out he smiled at Rose. “I’d say you handled that splendidly, my lady.”

“Jack Harkness, were you eavesdropping?” Rose teased. 

“I was merely keeping my ears open in case my lady required me,” he answered.

“Then thank you, Jack, for your excellent service.” She laughed as Jack executed an exaggerated bow, and went to find her parents and John to tell them how it went.

***

“Well of course I’d like to travel the stars, but I doubt we’ll have the ability in our lifetime.”

John was transfixed by Rose’s lips, the words she was saying and the puffs of mist forming in front of her. They’d bundled up for a walk along their favourite forest trail, letting themselves be enchanted by the glittering trees and icy creek. The morning was quiet aside from a few hardy birds chirping.

“I think the science is more advanced we know,” John countered, swinging their mittened hands between them. “We might not be able to do it ourselves, but we’ll see it. Maybe our children will do it.”

Rose grinned, a beacon above her pink scarf, and John quickly pushed aside images of astronauts with his hair and her smile. “Maybe,” she said. “Now, what about _time_ travel? When would you want to visit?”

John laughed as they left the trail and came up onto the main road, turning towards the House. “I don’t think I’d know where to start! So many moments in history, seeing how the future turns out…” He trailed off and straightened. “I think there’s an accident ahead.”

Rose craned her neck and squinted against the reflections from the snow. “Looks like a car went off the road, perhaps? I can see smoke.”

John started walking a little faster and Rose followed suit, both of them cautiously approaching the scene. There was most certainly a car in the ditch, vapour rising from the bonnet, scrapes and dents marring the green paint. Familiar, dark green. “Rose…”

She didn’t hear him. “That’s my father’s car. That’s my dad. DAD!” She raced towards the crash, John close behind. 

“Rose, be careful-”

“He’s in there. We have to get him out.” She waded into the ditch where the driver’s side was leaning, heedless of the wet, dead grass. “Dad, we’re going to get you out.” Lord Powell was slumped against his window, and when Rose yanked the door open John swept in to catch his limp body before it fell. John dragged Lord Powell away from his car and up to the shoulder of the road, but not before noticing that his coat was soaked through with blood. 

John checked him over, finding that there was a long, deep wound across Lord Powell’s abdomen, and he felt himself go numb. Rose refused to look anywhere but her father’s face, pillowing his head under her bunched up scarf.

“Dad, it’s me. I’m right here,” she said, fumbling for her father’s hand. “It’s Rose. I’m here with John.”

Lord Powell coughed, blood running from the corner of his mouth. “Rose… my sweet Rose. I’m so glad I got to see you.”

“It’s gonna be okay, Dad. John, go get help.”

“Rose, I don’t think-”

“ _John_. Go. Get. Help.” Rose gritted her words out, even as tears filled her eyes. 

John stood back, scanning the road for landmarks. They were closer to the village than they were to the House. “I’m going to get Dr. Shaw.” He ran the whole way.

Dr. Shaw was surprised to see John, panting and apologizing for getting blood on her door. “Accident,” he gasped. “Lord Powell. Just up the road. Rose is with him. I- I don’t think he’ll make it, but…”

“Martha, ring for the police and the ambulance. Tell them to find us on the road up to the House,” Dr. Shaw called back into the surgery. She grabbed her coat and bag and they were off in her car. John was silent on the short trip out of the village, staring at his hands in his lap, Peter Tyler’s blood going brown against his skin. 

Amazingly, Lord Powell was still conscious when they arrived, but barely. John tried to pull Rose away to let Dr. Shaw do her work, but she refused to let go of his hand. One look from the doctor confirmed what John suspected - all she could do was try to make sure he was comfortable. 

“Rose. Tell your mother and brother that I love them,” Lord Powell choked out. 

“No. No, you’ll tell them yourself.”

He shook his head. “Take care of them.” He looked past his daughter to where John knelt, his arms around her. “And John. You take care of her.”

John set his lips in a line and nodded. 

“You’re a good man. I trust you… with my family. With my Rose. Promise me.”

“I promise, my lord,” John said, squeezing Rose’s shoulders. 

“Dad, _no_. No. You’re going to be okay,” Rose insisted. 

Lord Powell tried to smile. “I love you, Rose.”

Her breath hitched. “I love you, Daddy. I love you.” 

Rose’s sobs echoed against the trees, and she collapsed on her father’s chest. Dr. Shaw leaned in and pressed her fingers to his neck, held her hand in front of his mouth and nose. “He’s gone,” she murmured, glancing at her watch to note the time. “I’m so sorry, my lady.”

The wail that rose from where they sat was unlike anything John had ever heard before, and chilled him worse than any winter weather. He gathered Rose into his arms and rocked her gently, weeping silently behind her anguished cries.

***

If anyone noted the impropriety of the agent of the estate pressing soothing kisses to the hair of an Earl’s daughter, they didn’t say anything. John had a vague recollection of the police arriving and bundling he and Rose into their car. He realised when they got to the House that it was Police Chief Cranfield himself taking them back, along with Constable Davidson. Rose stayed curled into his side the whole way, weeping into his chest, clutching his coat. John helped Rose out of the car when they arrived, but she insisted on walking in herself.

“I’m okay. I’ll be okay,” she said, drawing a deep breath and straightening her posture. 

“Rose, you don’t have to-”

“Mum will be a wreck. A complete mess. Anthony isn’t going to understand. I have to take care of them.” 

A lump formed in John’s throat as he saw Rose carefully smooth out her ruined dress and construct a solemn face. She walked as serenely as possible to the front door, dropping John’s hand when PC Cranfield opened it for her. 

Mr. Mott was in the foyer, and his eyes widened as he took in the sight of Rose and John, disheveled and trailed by the police. “My lady? What’s happened?”

“Where is my mother?”

“Her Ladyship is in the library,” Mr. Mott said, taking Rose’s bloodstained scarf and coat as she shrugged them off and handed them to him. “Shall I call Gwen for you?”

“Have her meet me in my room later,” Lady Rose said. “John, would you please explain to the staff what’s happened?” 

He swallowed down the lump and nodded. Her eyes were watering and he had to hold himself back from sweeping her into his arms again. “Yes, my lady.”

“Chief Cranfield, if you’d accompany me, please.” He followed Lady Rose into the library, leaving John with Mr. Mott and Constable Davidson. John tried to focus on his breathing, his gaze fixed on the doorway she’d gone through. 

“John, what on earth-”

Lady Powell’s shriek echoed through the hall. The men winced.

Constable Davidson glanced nervously at John. “If you want, I can-”

John shook his head. “There was an accident on the road, Mr. Mott. Lord Powell- Lord Powell is dead.”

Mr. Mott’s jaw dropped as he looked from John to Constable Davidson and back. “Is- Is this true?”

“I’m afraid so, sir,” Constable Davidson said. 

“Lady Rose and I were on a walk and we found him,” John blurted out, not caring anymore. “I ran for Dr. Shaw but it was too late. He died in her arms. I was there. There was nothing we could do!”

Mr. Mott pulled John into a hug as the young man broke down, his own sense of propriety cast aside for the moment as he rubbed John’s back and gave him a few moments to settle down. “I know it’s little consolation, John, but I’m glad you were with her.”

“Me too,” John sniffed. He dabbed at his eyes and realised his hands were still filthy. “I need- I need to clean up. I need to change. Can you-”

“Of course.” As butler it was Mr. Mott’s duty to impart such news to the household staff. “Take your time, John. I’ll gather the others, but don’t come down if you aren’t up to it.” He motioned to Constable Davidson to follow him. John fled upstairs to his room.

***

John went to the study he was working on a few days later, not that he thought Lady Rose would be joining him. If he had known, on the morning of the accident, that it’d be the last time he would be able to speak to Rose for a while, he’d have said more. He would have reaffirmed the promise he’d made to her father. He’d have told her that he’d help in any way she needed. He’d have told her he loved her. Maybe not that last one. Not while she was so vulnerable. Not with Dr. Shaw and the police there to raise eyebrows.

Instead he painted alone, coating the walls in the warm amber shade that Rose had chosen for the room. He was going to have one of the boys take care of it, but needed his own distraction from the emotional maelstrom outside. Word from Donna was that Lady Powell had taken to her bed and was barely eating. A cousin had come to help take care of Master Anthony. Uncle Stuart was pacing about nervously and uselessly. That left Lady Rose alone to face the steady stream of well-wishers and deliveries coming to the house. Driver after driver unloaded flowers from their cars, and black-swathed nobility swept in to offer condolences and sympathy. The postman brought especially large stacks of cards and telegrams on each visit. John could hear the telephone ringing down the hall almost constantly - Mr. Mott had the footmen taking it in turns sitting next to it just to write down messages. 

Jack had relayed to John a few details from Constable Davidson that John had neglected to pay attention to on the day of the accident. Evidently it appeared Lord Powell had been run off the road on his way into the village for a meeting. Obviously they didn’t know who the other driver was, but the police were looking for a damaged yellow vehicle, since it left scrapes and flakes of paint on Lord Powell’s car. John didn’t think they’d find much - everyone in town knew and liked Lord Powell, everyone knew he loved to drive his own car and would recognize it, nobody local would have failed to stop if they’d been in an accident. It was more likely someone from outside Bucknall, someone who carried on to their next destination without a thought, not realising they’d just stolen an Earl from his estates, a husband from his wife, a father from his children. 

John carried on with the amber study alone. He hadn’t tried to see Rose, though he’d peppered Gwen with questions about her and asked that she tell her mistress he’d been asking after her. Gwen swore she’d passed along John’s regards but never had any reply from Lady Rose for him. 

The funeral had been that morning and John very nearly ran across the churchyard to get to her. The entire household and most of the village attended the service, and John desperately wished he could be up in that front pew just to hold Rose’s hand and then comfort her after she delivered the eulogy, reading in a carefully emotional tone, determined not to shatter. She was wrapped up in black crepe and lace instead of John’s arms, heartbreakingly stoic next to her sobbing mother and fidgeting brother. Donna leaned on John during the service, exhausted from trying to keep up with Lady Powell’s grief. 

There was a small reception afterwards at the House just for family and some close friends, and the staff got together on their own below stairs. John stayed for one glass of Scotch and then disappeared back to work in the study. 

He had moved on to carefully detailing a window frame in white paint, and his brush almost slipped when he heard a knock and the door slowly opening and closing. 

“John?”

He whipped around and dropped the paintbrush. “Rose,” he breathed. She leaned against the closed door, hands behind her back. She still had the small net veil on her hat pulled over her face, but John could still see her uncertainty and fear, and her lower lip trembling. “Oh Rose.” John was across the room in an instant, pulling her to him and sinking with her to the floor when she finally burst into tears. “I’m here. It’s okay.” He rubbed soothing circles on her back and rocked her gently. 

“I’ve missed you,” she mumbled into his chest when her breath stopped hitching. 

“I’ve missed you too,” John said. “I’m so sorry I haven’t been able to be with you.”

“It’s not your fault. Stupid society,” Rose sighed, sitting up and pulling her hat off unceremoniously. “Oh no, did I make you spill your paint? It’s all over the carpet there.”

John let her change the subject. “Doesn’t matter. I’m ripping it out of here once I’m done painting. I hate carpet.” 

Rose quirked a little smile. “I hate _this_ carpet,” she said, tracing a hand along the garish swirls of fabric. “When I was little it made me dizzy if I stared at it too long.”

“Whoever put this carpet in was mad. There’s beautiful wood flooring underneath.”

“That would have been my great grandfather,” Rose said. “This was his office, I think. My grandfather hated the room and shut it up, and Dad… well, he liked it but never had much use for it. And he always said Great Grandfather was a bit nutty anyway. I like it though. It has a nice view of the woods.”

“Then it’s yours,” John said. “You already chose the paint anyway.”

Rose picked at the pilings. “I hope it’s still mine.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“We’re reading Dad’s will tomorrow. With the lawyers and such. The situation with the House and the estate is complicated.”

“It doesn’t just pass right to you and Anthony and your mother?” John asked.

“Not as such. For one, the title and the lands are separate, and the law allows for elder daughters to inherit titles. I’m the Countess of Powell now, officially.”

“Apologies, your ladyship!” John bowed in his seat and his heart swelled when he saw Rose smile.

“Don’t start with that. And don’t even think of calling Mum the Dowager, she says it makes her sound old.”

“I wouldn’t dare. But the estate?”

Rose sighed again. “There’s all this nonsense in the incorporation about who can take over and when and how. The neanderthals who wrote the papers made it so that female heirs have to be married by twenty-five or it goes to the next eligible heir, a married younger sister or a brother. Everything has to go into trust in the meantime, and if I’m not married in four years, it stays in trust until Anthony’s old enough.”

“Wait. Until Anthony’s old enough? Not until you get married?”

Rose shook her head. “If I’m not married by twenty-five, I forfeit my right to the estate.”

“Well that’s bullshit,” John declared, leaning back on his hands. Rose chuckled at his profanity. “What are you supposed to do then?”

“Live off the trust or something. Or perhaps they assume I’d be taken care of by the trustee or the next heir, or that if I marry later it’ll be to someone with their own lands,” Rose shrugged.

“Who’s the trustee?” John asked.

“Theoretically, it’d be Mum. But she doesn’t know a damn thing about running the place, it never really interested her. We all assumed I’d just inherit the whole thing, and not for a long time.” Rose paused and pushed her hair behind her ear. “Mum’s also just too distraught to even consider the whole trust thing. It’ll probably end up being Uncle Stuart.” She wrinkled her nose.

“It’s all so… archaic and complicated.”

“That’s the short of it. They put it in all sorts of technical language, but that’s how Dad explained it to me.”

“I’m a little surprised he never had that changed.”

“He always meant to,” Rose said. “It was something he was working on this year.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” Rose fiddled with one of the ribbons on her dress, clearly fighting tears again. “I just can’t… this is my _home_ , John. You understand that. I can’t rely on _Uncle Stuart_ to keep the place afloat, or let me be part of the operations. And if I have to get married and leave this place…”

John reached out and took Rose’s hand. “I’m sure your lawyers can figure something out. And if they can’t, well… a lot can happen in four years.” He was trying to be reassuring, but a pit had opened in his stomach and he felt part of himself tumbling down it. John knew that he and Rose couldn’t keep this up forever, that someday she’d have to make a decision, and she’d probably marry another aristocrat and John would move somewhere far, far away from Bucknall so he wouldn’t have to see her every day and have his heart ripped out anew each time. Now that the choice had jumped the queue he just wished she didn’t have to think about it while also mourning her father. He cursed her ancestors for making it so she had to juggle her grief with this anxiety.

“I suppose it can. Might even be sooner. There are so many letters from men I haven’t even thought about in years, suddenly so sorry for my loss. Not the most unique opening salvo, but they’re trying,” she admitted. 

More of John started taking running leaps into the pit as he said, “What about just partnering up with a friend, someone you can trust, just to get past the legal bit? You wouldn’t be too unhappy then, at least. Aren’t you close with Mickey Smith?”

Rose got a funny look on her face, almost one of disappointment. “A marriage of convenience. It’s not the worst possibility, though Mickey’s out. He proposed to Martha after the Harvest Festival. They’re getting married in the spring.”

“Ah.” John stared at their hands. 

“I don’t have to think about it for a little while, I suppose,” Rose said. “The post is taking up most of my time right now. Post and paperwork.”

“Sounds like you need a secretary.”

“That is a fantastic idea,” Rose agreed, smiling weakly and leaning on John again. “But right now I just need you.” 

“Good thing I’m right here,” John murmured against her ear, pressing his lips to her temple. He scooted back to lean against the wall and wrapped his arms around Rose. She stayed, neither of them speaking, just enjoying each others’ company, until the sunset started filtering through the windows and they had to get ready for dinner. 

“Oh, I almost forgot,” she said, straightening her dress and hair. “The lawyers are going to need to see you at some point tomorrow.”

“They do? Why?”

Rose shrugged. “Dad must’ve left you something.” She smiled a little at John’s dumbstruck face. “Don’t be so surprised. He liked you a lot,” she said softly. She stood on her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Reg Cranfield was the name of the actor who played the policeman walking by the Foreman's junkyard in the opening scene of "An Unearthly Child" - the very first person to appear on-screen in Doctor Who. And Constable Davidson is, of course, Cardiff's own PC Andy (from Torchwood). 
> 
> Also: Still not sorry.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone else is just as perplexed as you are about why John won't just ask Rose to marry him already.

John spent all night working in the amber study and hardly slept a wink when he finally did go to bed. He’d had plans for the day, going to town to get some things and burying himself in work on one of the guest rooms, but instead he stayed downstairs, helping the footmen polish and put away all the extra things that had been brought out for the funeral reception. 

He was summoned some time after lunch by a rather emotional Mr. Mott. Mrs. Smith rushed past them into her office, and Mrs. Grant wandered into the kitchen looking dazed. 

“What happened?” John asked in bewilderment as he and Mr. Mott went upstairs. 

“Lord Powell, he- he left us all retirement accounts,” Mr. Mott said, his voice wavering. 

John’s mouth gaped like a fish. “Oh wow. That’s wonderful.”

“They’re not much, but they’re secure investments. I can’t- I can’t even…” The butler shook his head as he opened the door to the library and announced John’s presence. He was gone before John could say anything else. 

It didn’t matter. Rose was there, at a table stacked with papers, beside her mother and a few men in suits - Lord Powell’s brother Stuart, and a few lawyers. John sat down and accepted a cup of tea. 

“This was a late addition to the will, John, and I must admit I find it rather unusual,” the stuffiest-looking lawyer said. John just nodded as the man shuffled papers and held one up to read. There was a list of books, ranging through history and physics and languages, most of them titles that John and Lord Powell had discussed together; a not insignificant sum of money that John never would have expected; and a message. 

“‘Finally, I would like to convey the trust and admiration I have for Mr. Smith, for the work he has done on our home and the journey he has taken to get here. He has proven himself to be incredibly skilled, passionate and loyal, and a more than worthy member of this household,’” the lawyer read. John blushed and stared at his teacup, barely touched. “‘While the final decision will of course be up to my wife and daughter, I would like to strongly recommend that Mr. Smith continue as agent of the estate and be appointed trustee in the event that one is necessary.’”

Naturally, this came at the precise moment John decided to take a sip of tea, which he promptly choked on. “What?”

The lawyer raised an eyebrow as John cleared his throat. Lady Powell still seemed lost, Rose merely smiled serenely, and her uncle shook his head. Lord Powell’s instructions went on for another few lines but John barely heard them. He couldn’t take his eyes off Rose.

“Do you have any questions?” the lawyer asked. 

“What? Sorry, no, not right now.”

“Then you’re free to go. We’ll be in touch with further information.”

“Thanks. Um, right. Thank you.” John nearly knocked over his chair as he left, and had to take a minute pressed to the wall outside the door once he’d made his escape just to slow his racing heart. Donna and Jack tried to interrogate him about the meeting but he kept quiet, leaving them wondering why he was so worked up over a bit of cash and some books.

***

When John finally got some time with Rose to talk about their meeting earlier that day, he asked her about her father’s addition to the will. “Did you know?”

“That he wanted you as trustee? Not exactly, but I wasn’t surprised,” she said. “I knew he’d want you to stay as agent. And it makes sense if you think about it. You know all about Bucknall, the house and the lands, you and I have been working together all year, Mum and Anthony like you-”

“Your mother likes me?”

“Of course she does,” Rose insisted. “That’s why she gives you a hard time. But anyway. You’ve been here for Bucknall’s rebirth. You _made_ that happen. You’re part of the family and the best choice for the job.”

“But it’s up to your mum, really.”

“We’ve talked. Uncle Stuart doesn’t agree, thinks it should be him, but I don’t want him around here forever,” she said.

“Can’t argue with you there.”

“But I do want _you_ here,” Rose continued, taking his hands, “and Mum might not be in the best of states right now, but she wants us to keep working together too, and she knows Uncle Stuart will only get in the way.” She smiled a little. “She wants you as trustee. We’re having the lawyers draw up the papers now.”

“Really?”

“Really. You’ll have the job as of tomorrow, if you want it.”

“Oh Rose, of course I do,” he gushed. “Anything to help you, anything at all.”

Rose lit up with the first genuine smile John had seen from her in days. “I’m so glad. Mum will want to tell you herself at dinner, so at least try to act surprised.”

“I’m still surprised from this morning. I don’t think that’s going to go away anytime soon.”

Sure enough, at dinner the former Countess of Powell asked John to be trustee, and he accepted, on the condition that she be made co-trustee. 

“This is your home, my lady,” he said. “You’ve been so kind to allow me to make it mine as well, and I’ll not have decisions made about it without your input.”

Lady Jacqueline nearly teared up, and began gushing about how sweet John was, reaching across the corner of the table to squeeze his hand. Stuart scowled about the whole thing, but within a few days the whole thing was finalised: John Smith was effectively in charge of Bucknall House and the entirety of the Powell Estates.

***

“I can’t believe it.”

“Believe it, Spaceman. You’re as good as family, and you deserve it.”

John was sitting in the corner of Mrs. Smith’s parlour, trying not to panic about his newfound responsibility while Gwen and Mrs. Smith worked on alterations to Donna’s wedding dress. Donna stood on an apple crate and complained about being stuck with pins, and all three women tried to help John calm down.

“I must say, I wouldn’t have pegged you for the job when I first met you,” Gwen admitted, “but now that I know you, I’m not surprised at all. You’ve a knack for this, John.”

“It doesn’t feel like it,” John sighed. “I feel like I’ve just been thrown into all of this because Lady Rose likes me.”

“I’d say she more than likes you,” Mrs. Smith commented. John turned red and looked out the window. “Everyone knows the two of you are sweet on each other, John. There’s no denying it.”

“Jack’s got a big mouth.”

“Jack’s got nothing to do with it,” Donna said. “You should’ve seen her while you were sick. Hardly left your side, even when you were so far gone with fever that you didn’t know who was there. You thought Mrs. Smith was your mum at one point. But Lady Rose, she stayed right there, even when Dr. Shaw and Martha told her she ought to be resting. If that isn’t love-”

“Donna,” John warned.

“She has a point, John,” Gwen said. “Lady Rose is utterly devoted to you, and it isn’t just because you’ve done so well with the house and the estate.”

“I’ve a feeling half of your improvements are for her, not just because you like it here,” Donna added. 

John ran his hand through his hair and slouched further in his chair. “Maybe it’s a bit of both.”

“What I don’t understand,” Donna continued, “is why you’re taking on this job as trustee instead of asking her to marry you.”

“Donna Noble!” Mrs. Smith exclaimed. 

“Well, he’s not in service anymore, is he?” Donna said. “An agent is a perfectly respectable position, and it would save Rose a load of trouble, trying to find a husband she can tolerate when she clearly-”

“It’s much more complicated than just a matter of station,” John interrupted. “Believe me, if I thought it was at all feasible… but it’s not. It’s just not.”

“But _why_ , John? What could possibly be standing in your way?”

 

“A lot, Donna, a lot that you don’t understand!” John shouted, jumping to his feet. The women sobered, fiddling with whatever pins or fabric was in their hands. “I’m not- I wasn’t- I haven’t been the best person. I’m _not_ a suitable match for Lady Rose, no matter how we feel about each other. If people knew she was marrying _me_ , this whole place would be ruined. And even still, she deserves better. She deserves the best. That isn’t me.”

There was a long silence, and John made to leave, but Mrs. Smith took his arm. “John Smith, you look at me, and you listen well. I don’t know what’s happened to make you think that you aren’t worthy of love, but you’re wrong. You deserve just as much happiness, if not more, than any high-born lady or lord. Lady Rose has chosen _you_ , and you alone. You need to talk to her about whatever it is that’s holding you back, because I can’t imagine it’s anything that would keep her from wanting you by her side for the rest of your lives.”

John stared at his shoes as he let the housekeeper’s words sink in. Donna and Gwen were nodding their agreement, but it didn’t keep his heart out of his stomach. 

“At least think about it, John,” Gwen said. “I know that nothing would make her happier.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.” That was all John could get out before he fled.

***

The ladies downstairs weren’t the only ones with the idea of John marrying Rose planted in their heads. 

Ianto had shown up at John’s room before dinner offering his services. John tried to decline, but Ianto insisted.

“Lady Powell has kept me on, Mr. Smith,” he explained. “I’m to be your valet now.”

“She what? But she knows I don’t need one, no offense to you,” John protested. But Ianto was already pulling out John’s dinner clothes. John sighed. “I’ll have to have Rose talk to her.”

Ianto raised his eyebrow. “ _She’s_ Lady Powell.”

“Right. Right, sorry, I keep forgetting all the title changes.” John resigned himself to having Ianto help him dress. He wasn’t used to it, but he knew that otherwise the man would be out of a job without Lord Powell. “I suppose I’m to call you Jones, then?”

“If you were properly concerned with these things, you might,” Ianto said with a little smirk. “But I won’t correct you on that.” He fastened John’s cufflinks as he continued. “If you’re to stay with Lady Powell, you’ll need me more often than you might think.” 

“I’ll stay as long as Rose needs me. This rule about her having to be married is absolutely ridiculous. I know she plans on changing it as soon as she can.”

“Of course. It wouldn’t do for your children to have to face the same thing.”

“Pardon? My- _our_ children?”

“I’m sorry Mr. Smith, that was my mistake. It’s just that we all know how fond of each other you and Lady Powell are, and with this unfortunate situation, it would be a sensible choice for the two of you to marry,” he explained. “I shouldn’t have said anything. It isn’t my place.”

“No, it isn’t,” John grumbled. “Did Jack tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“About Rose and I.”

“Only that the apparent affection between you is genuine and runs very deeply, when I once remarked upon it,” Ianto said. “I didn’t presume to think that was an indication of any sort of intimate relationship.”

John ran his hand through his hair. “Look, Ianto, I’ll tell you what I’ve told the others downstairs - yes, I care for Rose very much, but for reasons I don’t really want to discuss, I am not a suitable candidate for marriage. It would bring down no small amount of trouble on the family and I refuse to be responsible for that.” 

“I understand, Mr. Smith.”

“If anyone else brings up the notion, could you please disabuse them of it? Rose and I have enough on our plates as it is.”

“Certainly. And I apologise again for overstepping my bounds. Sometimes it’s hard to forget how we used to be on less formal terms.”

“Ianto, I am hereby giving you permission to speak to me however feels most comfortable to you,” John said, finally ready to go down for dinner. “Just not about marriage.”

***

The days always seemed gray, now. Sure, it was November, but Rose seemed to _feel_ the dull, damp climate more acutely this year. She was sitting by her window in her dressing gown, waiting for Gwen to arrive. Unable to sleep, Rose had risen much earlier than usual, but without any thoughts of what she might do, didn’t bother ringing for her maid. 

_Countess_. The fact of her father’s death had become strikingly real to her, but the inheritance of his title had yet to sink in. She gazed out over the bleak lawn where the grass was still trying to stay green in the wet snow, to the forest, and the half-barren trees. She knew that in each direction lay fields, farms, homes, and businesses, all now under _her_ employ and protection. She hardly felt prepared. Administratively, perhaps - she had been training, after all, and had John to help her - and she had good personal relationships with most of Bucknall, but Rose didn’t feel ready to be that person. She’d expected to have more _time_ \- to keep learning, to make a gradual handover of operations as her father grew old and gray, and she became more mature and confident. And then, though she never wanted to think of people dying, her father would at some point pass away peacefully at home surrounded by family, and she would assume his mantle with far less trepidation than she felt now. He deserved better than a cold stretch of road and her panicked face beside him.

Rose closed her eyes and leaned against the window, focussing on the cool glass on her face. She must have drifted off, because there was soon a knock on the door, and she was startled awake.

“Your Ladyship? Oh, you _are_ awake. I’d not heard the bell and it’s getting late, so I thought I’d check on you,” Gwen said, entering with a tea tray.

“Quite all right, Gw- Cooper,” Rose said. “Sorry, I’m still getting used to these new forms of address.”

“I am too, your Ladyship.” Gwen set the tray down near Rose’s bed. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“I’m not quite sure yet,” Rose sighed. “Shall we agree not to use these silly titles with each other, as we did before? I’d like to keep some things the same.”

Gwen smiled gently. “As you wish, Rose. Will you be coming down for breakfast, or shall I fetch you something?”

“I suppose I’ll come down, though I may be late,” Rose said, rising to fix herself a cup of tea. “Has that dress with the scalloped edging been cleaned yet?”

“I believe it has, but I’ll have to go get it,” Gwen said.

Rose laughed weakly. “I didn’t realise just how little black was in my wardrobe until now,” she said. “See to that and then I’ll dress and come down.”

Gwen nodded and left Rose with her tea. She sipped at it slowly, steeling herself for the morning with a stronger brew than she would usually drink. Soon, Gwen returned with an armload of clothing, some of which she laid out. The rest she tucked away while Rose finished her tea. 

They had little but small talk until Rose sat for Gwen to fix her hair. “Excuse my… boldness, Rose, but I bring this up as a friend as much as a maid,” she said, glancing at Rose’s reflection in the mirror.

“Go on,” Rose said.

“It’s just… has your monthly not come? Only I know it usually does around this time, but you’ve not asked me for those items yet, nor did you last month,” she said.

Rose pressed her lips together tightly and met Gwen’s gaze in the mirror. “It hasn’t. Perhaps with all the stress the past little while…”

“You’re right. Don’t let me upset you by asking, I just wanted to make sure everything is okay,” Gwen said, adjusting a few hairpins.

“Quite all right,” Rose said. “Thank you for looking out for me, it seems I’ve been forgetting how to do that for myself. If it doesn’t come within the week I’ll consult with the doctor.”

Rose kept her face a mask, the same sad-but-trying-to-get-by expression she’d mastered in the days after the accident. No one would be able to tell that there was one more straw on her back.


	27. Chapter 27

Weeks passed, and life downstairs, at least, went back to normal for the most part, with the exception of Ianto, who had the grim task of sorting through the late Earl’s things, and Donna and Gwen, who were struggling to keep their ladies going. Christmas was approaching and nobody felt particularly festive, nor were they discussing any plans, leaving Mrs. Grant with a shrinking window in which to order food. But the mourners and well-wishers had gone home, and the House was quiet, so John worked steadily, unimpeded, yet uneasy. 

Donna was less worried about the new Dowager Countess now, as she had gathered herself enough to come out of her self-imposed confinement and attempt to take care of her own duties, though she still turned away most calls and visitors. Gwen fretted daily about Rose. She wasn’t taking much care of herself, spending most of her days shut up in the library, taking meals at a makeshift desk as she sifted through her father’s papers and the continuing deluge of correspondence. Mickey called on her regularly, trying to get her to spend time with him and Martha, but she never accepted, sometimes even refusing to see him. The maid didn’t know it, but her careful conversation with Rose was what managed to get her going - rather than make an appointment with Dr. Shaw, though, Rose arranged tea with Martha at the earliest opportunity.

“I’m so glad to see you, Rose,” Martha said. She lived in a small set of rooms behind the surgery, having moved out of Bucknall House when her duties there made commuting impractical. “It’s good for you to get out of the House.”

“I’ve been out of the House,” Rose objected.

“For something other than business, then,” Martha said, setting a cake down on the table. 

Rose didn’t feel like talking about herself just yet - she’d been cooped up mentally as well as physically - so she asked Martha about her training, the surgery, life in the village, her relationship with Mickey - just to hear about something unrelated to her family for a little while. But she couldn’t hold off Martha’s concern all afternoon.

“I’m not going to lie, Rose, you look terrible,” Martha told her. 

“Thanks a lot.”

“I mean that out of concern. Have you been sleeping well? Eating enough?”

“No, and not really,” Rose answered. “There’s just been so much to do, Mum was practically catatonic for a while and still isn’t back to normal, Anthony needs me all the time…”

“John’s helping you, yeah?”

“He’s been amazing. I’ve let him take on a lot, but I-” Rose’s voice caught in her throat as thoughts of John, and how he might react, suddenly flooded her.

“Oh, sweetheart, come here.” Martha rounded the table and pulled her chair close so she could wrap her friend in a hug while she cried. She rubbed Rose’s back and didn’t ask her any more questions, but Rose managed to catch her breath for a moment and pulled away. 

“I think I’m pregnant,” she blurted out. 

Martha sat up straight, held onto Rose’s shoulders and looked her in the eye. “Oh?”

That was all it took for everything to spill out in a torrent - her relationship with John, their ups and downs, spending the night in the cabin, and how much he’d meant to her since her father died and before. “... And now I’ve missed _two_ cycles, and I didn’t even _notice_ , Gwen brought it up. I can’t- Martha, I can’t _deal_ with this, not with everything going on.”

Martha got up, poured Rose a glass of water, and made her drink it. “No wonder you’re so worked up,” she said. “I’m guessing there wasn’t any contraception in that cabin.” 

Rose shook her head. “I’d not thought about that since college,” she admitted. “It was stupid-”

“Monumentally.”

“-I know. But I can’t just wait and see. Aren’t there- aren’t there tests these days, to find out for sure?”

Martha leaned back in her chair. “There _is_ one, but it’s incredibly new, and it’s expensive. I’ve never done it, or seen it done, only read about it,” she said. “And it would take a few days at least just to arrange it, maybe weeks before we can actually perform it, and then another few days for the results. We don’t exactly have lab rabbits handy around here, it would have to be done in the City.” 

Rose shook her head. “Can you look into it? I just…”

“I know. You need peace of mind. But you know, you’ve been under a lot of stress and that can certainly affect your cycle. It could show up while you’re waiting for the test to be done.” She took Rose’s hands. “I’ll speak to Dr. Shaw. She needn’t know it’s for you at first,” she added at Rose’s look of alarm. “But I will probably need her help to have it done. And if it turns out that you _are _pregnant, you’ll need her care. She’s good at being discreet, you know that.”__

__“Thank you, Martha.” Rose leaned forward and hugged her._ _

__“Now,” Martha said, “I’m going to make some more tea, we’re going to eat _all_ of this cake, and then we’re going to have some proper girl talk about _your_ Mr. Smith, since I’ve already told you about mine.”_ _

__Rose laughed as she dried her eyes. “Are those doctor’s orders?”_ _

__“They certainly are!”_ _

____

***

John hauled in an evergreen and set it up in the Great Hall. It was more modest than the one he’d helped take down last Christmas, but still looked impressive in its station near the fireplace. Mr. Mott had asked Rose and Jacqueline if they wanted a tree and they’d been noncommittal, so John went out and got one anyway. If it came down to it, he could just take it out, he figured, at least until he heard a familiar shriek and giggle of delight.

“You got the Christmas tree!” Anthony shot across the hall before Miss Clara could react, racing around the tree to inspect it. 

“That I did,” John said, shoving his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels as Clara joined him. “Does it meet with your approval, Master Anthony?”

“It’s smaller than last year’s,” he declared. “But fatter. And I like the wonky branch over here. Can we decorate it?”

“I think you should ask your mum and your sister first,” sald Clara gently. “It wouldn’t do to leave them out.”

Anthony pouted and turned back to the tree, brushing his fingers over the needles. “Then we’ll prob’ly never decorate it. They don’t want to do anything anymore. Mum’s just sad all the time and Rose is always working.” 

John and Clara glanced at each other, and Clara shook her head. She’d taken the brunt of handling Anthony’s feelings since his father died and it was clear she felt she’d hit a wall. John put a hand on the boy’s shoulder and joined him in looking over the branches for a moment.

“Come sit with me, Anthony,” John said, guiding him to a bench in the hall. They sat down, Anthony between John and Clara, fidgeting a little. “You know, my mum and dad died just before Christmas too.”

“Really?”

“Yup. There was an accident where they worked. I was a few years older than you are.”

“So you’re an orphan then.” 

“Anthony! Don’t be rude,” Clara gasped. 

“It’s okay,” John chuckled. “Yes, I am. Me and my big brother. He had to take care of everything and work really hard to make sure we could stay together in our house.”

“Just like Rose is doing.”

“Exactly. I didn’t think we’d have Christmas either - we didn’t even get a tree! And my brother never wanted to talk about it. It made me really mad, especially because he thought I was being silly. We got in a big fight about it too, and I told him I was having Christmas even if it was without him. But you know what?”

“What?”

“I came home one day and he’d decorated the whole house. We got each other presents and played games, and even though we were still sad and missed our parents a lot, it helped us feel better,” John said, trying to keep his voice even. 

“So you still had Christmas!”

“Yeah. Yeah, we did.” John looked down at his lap. It was the most he’d talked about his family in a very long time and it threatened to overwhelm him. He and Irving hadn’t had very many more Christmases together after that. He felt Clara’s hand on his shoulder and heard her speak. 

“I remember my first Christmas without my mum,” she said. “My dad wanted to keep everything the same and pretend that it was normal, even though it wasn’t. We both had to learn to do things a little bit differently, and it was hard, but it was okay too.”

“So you still had Christmas too,” Anthony said. John and Clara exchanged wry smiles at his fixation on ensuring the holiday took place. 

“We did,” Clara said. “It was just different.”

“I’m with your dad. I don’t want it to be different. Mum and Rose used to be fun, and they used to talk to me about things. Now they don’t. It’s like they forgot all about Christmas.”

John had composed himself enough to speak again, and chose his words carefully. “When someone dies, there are a lot of things that grown-ups need to do in order to make sure that all the practical things in our lives keep working. Sometimes it takes a long time for them to be able to think about fun things like Christmas, or even sad things like missing the people who are gone. So it’s our job to remind them, yeah?”

“Yeah!” Anthony seemed rather excited by the prospect. “I’m going to tell Mum and Rose that I’m having Christmas without them.”

“Maybe don’t say it like that,” John laughed. “Perhaps Miss Clara could help you decide a nice way to ask them about it?”

“I think I can do that,” Clara smiled. “Come on, Anthony, I think our lunch is almost ready.” 

Anthony leaned forward abruptly and hugged John tightly around the neck. “Thank you for getting our tree. I’ll make sure it gets decorated.”

“You’re welcome,” John murmured, patting his back. “Go have your lunch. I’ll see you soon.”

Anthony grabbed Clara’s hand and led her away to the dining room, and John slumped back against the wall, rubbing his hand over his face. When he opened his eyes he saw Rose, standing hesitantly by the doorway to the library. 

“I’m guessing you heard all that,” he said. 

“I did,” said Rose, coming into the hall and standing by the tree. “I didn’t know Miss Clara’s mother had died.”

“She was a teenager, same as I was when I lost my mum and dad.” John stood up and joined Rose at the tree. She was looking it over much as her brother had, though with her arms crossed tightly over her chest and much less joy in her eyes. He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at the tree rather than Rose. “Donna’s dad passed away a few years ago and so did Gwen’s. Rory’s best friend died when they were young, Amelia’s never known her parents, and Jack’s younger brother went missing when they were boys.” He took a long breath. “We’ve all lost people, Rose. It makes the holidays hard, but we help each other get by.”

“I just don’t know if I can do this without him,” she whispered. 

“I know. But Anthony needs you, and I think you need him.” He looked at her then, saw her fingers tightening around her biceps, her jaw clenching and eyes starting to shine. “I’ve got to get back to work. I’ll be in the study if you need me.” John chanced a kiss to her temple before leaving her to her thoughts, turning back to see she hadn’t moved.

***

Rose was thrilled with her new study, even if she didn’t seem like it. John had assembled a variety of furniture from storage and lesser-used rooms and somehow it all came together to be both warm and professional. This was a place she could conduct business from. She wanted the other rooms she’d been using to be for family and friends, to be able to announce she was working, go into a room, and shut the door. Which she promptly did as soon as it was finished.

John had, however, not installed a lock on said door, though Rose had a feeling that even if he had, her mother would have found a way around it. As it was, Lady Jacqueline strolled in one afternoon as if she owned the place, and sat down in the chair on the other side of her desk.

“Comfortable?” she asked, not looking up from her papers.

“I suppose. John _did _put the nicer chair on your side.”__

__Rose smirked but kept writing. Her mother kept watching her._ _

__“Do you need something?”_ _

__Rose thought she saw a flicker of pain cross Lady Jacqueline’s face, but it was gone in an instant. “You missed lunch.”_ _

__“I did?” Rose glanced at the clock and sighed. “Why didn’t anyone come get me?!”_ _

__“Because the last time, and the time before that, and the time before that, you snapped at them that you weren’t hungry,” she retorted. “Honestly, Rose, you keep locking yourself in here like you are, we’re all going to forget what you look like.”_ _

__“Don’t be dramatic, Mum,” Rose sighed. “I have a lot of work to do, you know that.”_ _

__“And what’s John doing, then? Or did we name him trustee for fun?”_ _

__“We’ve divided things up,” Rose explained. “He’s taking care of the grounds and the house, and I’m dealing with staff and this mountain of correspondence.” She gestured at the basket of letters next to her desk._ _

__“If you’re dealing with staff, did Miss Noble tell you she’s postponed her wedding?”_ _

__“What? No, she didn’t!”_ _

__“She did. Evidently she informed Mr. Bennett of her decision after the funeral. Didn’t want to leave us in the lurch so close to Christmas.”_ _

__“That’s awfully kind of her, but I’m sure we’d have managed.”_ _

__“Easy for you to say, she’s not _your _maid!” Lady Jacqueline sniffed. “Still, can’t say I’m not a little bit happy about it.”___ _

____“Sure, now you don’t have to hire someone else.”_ _ _ _

____“Well, there’s that. But I’ve also never liked that fiance of hers. Thinks he’s God’s gift to business and all, but he doesn’t seem particularly intelligent, does he? He probably wouldn’t have gotten anywhere without Sir James.”_ _ _ _

____Rose hummed and tapped her pen against the paper in front of her. “Did she say how he reacted?”_ _ _ _

____“Not well, from what I gather. He’s gone back to the City in a huff. Sir James went with him too, if I’m not mistaken.”_ _ _ _

____“Ah.” Rose glanced out the window. It was snowing again. She wondered if Martha had heard anything about the test yet. She wondered what John was working on. And why her mother was still talking. “Sorry, Mum, what was that?”_ _ _ _

____“Oh, you’re just as bad as John,” Jacqueline muttered. “I was saying, I’d best go tell himself that he missed lunch too. The two of you spent all this time gussying up the whole house but you only ever use your offices.” She got up to leave, informing Rose that she’d have something sent up for her, and she’d best eat it, and she’d better be at dinner. Rose grumbled some sort of assent, burying her face in her arms on the desk as soon as her mother shut the door._ _ _ _

______ _ _

***

Suitably chastised by Lady Jacqueline for his absence at luncheon and for her trek out to his workshop in the snow, John resisted the urge to bash his head against the wall. He wasn’t surprised that Rose had skipped it again, though it worried him. She’d practically ripped his head off when he’d last gone to fetch her, and kept brushing off questions about how she was doing or if he could help her with anything. He’d been hoping to sit down with her today, but then the post had come at breakfast with two rather concerning letters.

The first was from Jenny and Vastra. John knew that Mr. Bennett and Sir James had retreated to the City after Donna had asked to postpone her wedding, and that Sir James himself would have been smarting from Rose’s rejection of his marriage proposal. His efforts to get in her good graces had not waned, Rose had just found them easier to ignore once she was swept up in her father’s passing. 

What John had not expected, however, was that the men would take up residence at a brand-new townhouse located distressingly close to the Versailles. They had been seen frequenting the club with their usual cadre, including Saxon, and there had been reports of them causing trouble when out at other establishments with their escorts. John worried about Lynda and Lucy, and even Reinette, but also about what the men were planning together - the next part of the letter said that H.C. Clements had been putting a lot of money into Torchwood’s patent medicine arm, particularly that Vital Essences product, or whatever it was called. They were buying up shares and investing in all arms of the company. It seemed like a peculiar thing to focus on out of all the enterprises they were involved in. They had also been buying up land in a few regions close to Bucknall, another strange choice. John really wasn’t sure what to make of it. 

The other letter was from Harold Saxon himself. John had found himself shaking once he realised who the sender was, and that had been part of why he’d shut himself in his workshop for the day. Ostensibly it was a letter of condolence for the loss of Lord Powell, but John could feel smarm and charm oozing off the paper. It ended with a vaguely threatening request that they meet in the City soon to “catch up properly” and “discuss a business proposition.” John really didn’t want to have anything to do with Saxon, but in combination with the report from his friends, his curiosity and anxiety were winning out. 

He’d have to talk to Rose about it. They’d been planning to go into the City soon anyway, to get a few things squared away before Christmas. John tucked the letters back into his jacket pocket and bundled up to head back to the House. The snow was starting to come down harder and the wind was picking up, so one side of him was thoroughly coated when he got in the front door. By the time he’d shaken off his hat and coat and handed them off to Mr. Mott, Rose had come into the Hall. She looked so small, hands wringing each other in front of the shiny black embroidery on her dress, smile fighting its way to her eyes. John took a deep breath and several long steps towards her, cupping her cheek as she lifted her gaze to his. There was a long moment before John bent down to kiss her gently, and the deep breath she took after was as much to steel herself as it was to recover. 

“I have to talk to you about something,” she murmured.

“So do I,” he said.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the villain reveals his evil plan!

The Tower was John and Rose’s place to talk, so up they went, hand in hand. Not sure how to start, Rose sat in the window seat, and John spun his telescope laily on its stand. They started talking at the same time twice before laughingly deciding to flip a coin to choose who went first. That honour went to John.

He started by sharing the letters he’d received, summarising and elaborating in his roundabout way as Rose read them over with a frown and he paced. By the end his hair was completely on end from his stress-induced ruffling of it.

“I take it you want to meet with Saxon, then,” Rose finally said.

“As much as I loathe the idea of it, I kinda do,” John admitted. “It’s the only way to really find out what he wants.”

Rose folded the letters carefully and tucked them back into their envelopes. “We’ll finalise our trip into the City for next week, there’s no use putting it off. And this ‘Vital Excellence’ stuff - you said Dr. Shaw and Martha had been doing some research on it?”

“On all sorts of patent medicines. They mentioned this one being one of the few with any real potential, though I’m not sure why.”

“I’m seeing Martha tomorrow, I’ll ask her about it then. In the meantime, I have to wonder if all this isn’t connected.”

“Oh?”

“The Powell estate has never been of much interest outside this area, and all of a sudden we’re being visited by rich men from all over,” Rose said. “Uncle Stuart actually seems to care about the place now - he’s _still_ upset that you’re trustee, by the way - and he’s pushing us to get involved with his patent medicine that all the rich men are interested in. Underneath it all is something _so important_ that your childhood friend feels the need to come out of the woodwork and practically blackmail you into working for him - but to what end?”

By now Rose was the one pacing. If it weren’t for the subject matter, John would have been thrilled - she hadn’t been this animated in weeks.

“Rich men in town isn’t that unusual when an eligible young lady has just returned home,” John pointed out.

“No, but the men themselves aren’t all eligible, are they? Bennett is after Miss Noble, Naismith is married, Saxon’s only spoken to me twice. Sir James is the only one of the cadre who’s tried to court me,” Rose said. “And none of the men Mum tried to set me up with are involved in any of these businesses; I looked into it when we started getting suspicious.”

“So a business is trying to forge ties with a wealthy benefactor.”

“Except until you and I started getting involved, Bucknall wasn’t doing very well at all? Dad wasn’t exactly the best businessman, if you recall. And our books still aren’t the best, no matter how much things have improved.”

John pondered this for a moment. “So it’s something to do with us, maybe.”

“Or we’re a means to something. Marrying me, blackmailing you - they’re ways to get what they want _from_ Bucknall,” Rose said. “We need to figure out what that is, because it certainly isn’t money.”

“Rose Tyler, I do believe you’re on to something!” John said, grinning. She returned his smile with a kiss and a long embrace.

“What I don’t understand,” Rose added, “aside from everything we just said, of course, is what the Versailles Club has to do with it. Jenny and Vastra’s letter seemed to imply it was something important, not just a place where the Clements men are meeting.”

John felt his stomach sink and tugged on his ear. “That’s - that’s an entire story of its own, and has a lot to do with Saxon and-”

There was a pounding on the door at the bottom of the stairs, and Jack’s voice could be heard filtering up to them. John and Rose quickly ran down to find the footman frantic and out of breath.

“ _Fire_ ,” he gasped at John. “Your workshop.”

***

When the fire brigade had finished their work, it was clear that the damage just looked worse than it actually was. The fire had kept only to the back section where John’s abandoned projects lay. Still, enough had been burnt to render the little cottage unusable, and water from the firefighters’ hoses had soaked the rest.

John had run outside without his coat and had to be led, shaking from cold and rage, back into the House on Rose’s arm. The footmen gathered John’s papers and belongings into boxes and brought them to Rose’s study, while Lady Jacqueline fussed over John. She sat him down in front of the fire in the library, wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, and splashed whiskey in his tea, but John just stared at his hands. He was clutching one of Anthony’s drawings, damp and smelling of smoke, that he had rescued from his desk before being dragged away. 

When Lady Jacqueline left to ask Mrs. Grant to postpone dinner for a while, John finally spoke. 

“That wasn’t an accident.”

“Yeah,” Rose said, rubbing circles on John’s back. “The fire chief said it was very precise.”

“It was a warning, Rose,” John said, locking eyes with her. “From Saxon, or Stone; one of them - that I need to cooperate.”

The ‘or else’ remained unspoken. John’s attention returned to Anthony’s drawing, and Rose knew what John felt that entailed. “Don’t go there, John. Don’t put this on yourself.”

“How can I not?” he protested. “This was targeted. They waited until after I left - they don’t want to hurt me right now, but they want me to know that they can. And that they can hurt you and your family too.”

Rose shook her head. “You don’t know that.”

“I can’t risk it.”

She leaned in and pressed a kiss to his temple, then rested her head on his shoulder. “I’ll arrange for the townhouse to be opened up. You set up the meeting with Saxon. We’ll go as soon as we can.”

***

John accompanied Rose to the surgery in the village the next day to meet with Martha and Dr. Shaw. They were surprised to find Rory was already there, sleeves rolled up and leaning over a microscope. He flushed and stammered when he saw Rose and John.

“It’s, ah, my day off, your ladyship. Miss Jones found out I have an interest in medicine and she and Dr. Shaw have been kind enough to allow me to shadow them at the surgery,” he explained.

“Oh, that’s wonderful, Rory!” Rose said. “You have some wonderful teachers.”

“Rory sells himself short,” Dr. Shaw added. “He’s got rather extensive knowledge of local remedies, it’s been extremely helpful.”

“My family has lived here for generations,” he said.

“Tell them what you found in the Vitex,” Martha urged. “That’s what we’ve been calling the Vital Excellence Vitamin Essences, for short.”

“Well, I thought the colour looked familiar - that shade of blue is rather distinctive - and when I smelled it, it was rather obvious,” Rory said, passing the bottle around. Rose took a sniff and her eyes widened. 

“Weed plant? Seriously?”

“I know!” Rory exclaimed. “ _Herbabaculum vitae_ is its proper name, it’s native to this area. Endemic, really, grows absolutely everywhere.”

“Remember all those blue flowers by the creek?” Rose said to John. “Do they not have those in Gallifrey?”

John shook his head. “I’d never seen them before I got here. They smell lovely, but their Latin name means ‘staff of life’ and you call them a weed?”

“If their seeds get into a field, they’re a nightmare for a farmer,” Rose said. 

“ _But_ ,” Rory continued, “if you harvest and cook them right, they’re actually rather nutritious. My great-grandmother got the family through a three year drought on weed plant. Some people have kept using the flowers as a remedy, usually for extra energy or any kind of general malaise.”

“And it’s not just a folktale?” John asked.

“Evidently not,” Dr. Shaw said. “I sent a few samples to a friend’s laboratory for testing, he said the nutrient value is simply extraordinary.” 

“Well that’s brilliant! Well done, Rory!” John said, clapping him on the back. While he, Rory, and Dr. Shaw continued discussing various developments on the patent medicine front, Martha drew Rose aside and into an examination room to speak privately.

“I know you’re going to the City soon, so I’ve made you a referral,” she said, handing Rose a business card. “Dr. Constantine’s one of the few doctors performing pregnancy tests for the public. He’s very busy with his research but I got you in on Thursday afternoon. I hope that’s not too short notice.”

Rose shook her head. “No, it’s fine, we’ll be heading in on Tuesday. Thank you so much, Martha.”

“You’re welcome. I have to ask - have you spoken to John about this?”

“No,” Rose admitted, sighing when Martha tsked at her. “I was going to! But then the fire happened, and he’s been so stressed out… I couldn’t. It’s difficult enough as it is.”

“Fine,” Martha said. “But you’re going to have plenty of time alone together while you’re in the City. I really hope you talk to him then.”

“I’ll try. Really, I will. I’d just feel better about it if I knew for sure, either way.”

“I know.” Martha pulled her friend into a hug. “Let me know how it goes. And ring me here at the surgery if there’s anything you need.”

They rejoined the others, and John and Rose stayed for a cup of tea before heading back to the House. They still had to finish packing.

***

The Tyler family’s townhouse was a dark and dull affair, since the family rarely used it. John and Rose brought Gwen and Ianto along this time, and Amelia as cook - Mrs. Grant felt she deserved to get the experience. They would be spending two weeks in the City, only returning to Bucknall on December twenty-third.

On Thursday, Rose went to her appointment with Dr. Constantine - which took far less time than she expected and ended with a brusque “we’ll be in touch” - and met with a few school friends for lunch afterwards, but couldn’t help worrying about John the whole time. That evening, once Gwen had finished readying her for bed, Rose slipped down the hall to John’s room. 

“Rose? Is everything all right?” he asked. He was still up, working even in his pyjamas. Wordlessly, Rose took his hand and led him back to her room, locking the door and directing him to climb into bed. She curled into his side under the blankets, feeling her tension melt away once John’s arms were securely around her. “Better?”

“Much,” she sighed, breathing him in. They’d not had a proper cuddle in a long time, and hardly any time alone that wasn’t taken up with work or problems. John kissed her head and stroked her hair, and Rose stretched up to press her lips to his properly. She clutched at John’s pyjama shirt as his fingers tangled in her hair, drawing strands loose from the braid it was in. He returned the kiss with increasing fervor, guiding her to her back and pressing the length of his body against hers, slipping his tongue past her lips, running a hand down her side and grazing her breast. Rose gasped and he moved his attention to her neck, her shoulder, her collarbone; she shifted up his shirt and dug her fingernails into the soft skin of his lower back. 

As John found the hem of her nightgown and began making his way up the inside of it, warning bells cut through the pleasure flowing through her. What had she just been doing that morning? 

“Wait,” she gasped, grabbing John’s wandering hand. “John, wait. We shouldn’t- you were right, last time.” 

John stilled, pulling back to gaze down at her. “About what?”

“About- about the risks. About what could happen. I was too flippant about it then, but now so much has changed, and I can’t- I can’t-” She squeezed her eyes shut as they stung, and John shifted off to her side to hold her again.

“Hey, it’s all right,” he murmured, rubbing her back. He kissed her forehead and brushed his thumb against the few tears that had escaped onto her cheek. She felt his chest shudder on his next deep breath. “When you said- when you said I was right, did you mean- are you…”

“I might be,” Rose whispered, managing to meet his eyes, which were wide with alarm. 

“How long have you suspected?”

“A few weeks. I talked to Martha, she helped me find a doctor to do a test - that’s where I was this morning. But it could be another few weeks before I know for sure,” she said. 

John rolled onto his back and rubbed a hand over his face. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to worry you!” She sat up and hugged her knees to her chest. “But I was going to, and then the fire happened, and everything else with Saxon… you’ve got enough on your plate already. Especially if it ends up being nothing...”

“So do you!” John exclaimed, sitting up with her. “Rose, we’re a team, yeah? I’d hoped… I’d like to think it’s for more than just business.”

“I’d like to think that too, but you’re not exactly the most forthcoming person yourself,” Rose snapped.

“That’s different…”

“How? You want us to share each other’s burdens, don’t you? Your past counts just as much as my present. You deserve the support just as much as I do.” 

John turned away and swung his legs over the side of the bed, resting his elbows on his knees. “It’s still hard to talk about. I’m afraid you’ll be ashamed of me. I am.”

Rose crawled over and embraced him from behind. John held onto her arms and she kissed the back of his neck. “I could never.” 

“I’m not really ready…”

“That’s okay. It’s late and we should sleep. But can you at least try to be ready? Start small, maybe?” Rose leaned around to look at him. 

“I can do that.” He smiled weakly and she kissed him before pulling him back into bed. They rejoined each others’ arms and settled in. “Can I tell you something now?”

“Always.”

“There’s a part of me that, despite everything, would be really excited if you are pregnant.”

Rose burrowed closer to John and smiled against his chest. “Me too.”

***

Their meetings with the banks and lawyers took up a fair bit of time, but they managed to visit Jenny and Vastra, bringing them up-to-date on the whole situation. Their friends even visited the townhouse so Amelia could show off some new recipes, and Ianto could be scandalised by the staff being invited upstairs for dinner at Rose and John’s insistence.

Still, the shadow of John ‘s meeting with Saxon hung over even the most lighthearted moments. Jenny and Vastra had promised to keep watch over the proceedings, which were to be held at a small, out-of-the-way pub of Saxon’s choosing, about halfway through their time in the City. John didn’t see either of the women there, but supposed they’d hired someone else, which he was grateful for - the further away his friends were, the better he felt. He nursed a pint of ale that somehow managed to be worse than Dorium’s while he waited. He’d shown up early just to assess the place. Anonymous enough. He’d worn an average suit and felt like he blended in.

Saxon, on the other hand, arrived in something shiny and fine, commanding attention and leaving two burly men at strategic place. John swallowed hard when his old friend walked in - he’d brought Lucy, leaving her at the bar which he conducted his business. She made eye contact with a bewildered John as Saxon sat down, but John couldn’t read her expression. Her whole being seemed to have gone blank since he’d last seen her.

“Theta, my friend, how are you?” Saxon oozed as he joined John at his table. “Keeping the home fires burning, I presume.”

“I’m fine,” John grumbled. “What do you want?”

“Straight to the point, I see. So different from when we were kids and you’d take forever just to say hello,” Saxon said. “I thought I told you last time we met, Theta - I want _you_ , working for me.”

“And I told _you_ , it’s not happening,” John grit out. “But that can’t be the _only_ thing you want, Koschei.”

“Mmm, I suppose it isn’t. But having you along would make it _so_ much sweeter.”

John drummed his fingers on the table. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you say.”

“We need a man like you on board, John. Brilliant, charming, knows his way around both the lab and the ballroom alike. And the bedroom too, of course.”

“I could give you half a dozen other names if that’s all you’re looking for.”

Saxon shook his head. “Ah, but none of them have the _connections_ that you do. Well, one connection in particular, not for our lack of trying. And it’s so convenient for you to access - right at home!”

“No. Rose stays out of this.”

“You can tell Lady Powell as much or as little as you like,” he scoffed. “It’s not about _her_. It’s about her land and what grows on it.”

John felt the gears turning in his head as he stared down Saxon and his infuriating smirk. “ _Herbabaculum vitae_ ,” he murmured. “The main ingredient in Vitex, the only product H.C. Clements has in its portfolio that actually does any good.”

“Oh, good job, Johnny boy. You’re absolutely correct. Of all the places it grows, none of them even compare to Bucknall. The Tylers have been sitting on a gold mine all these years, without even knowing it.”

John’s frown deepened. “All this for a plant? Seriously? You _could_ just cultivate it yourself in a greenhouse, clearly you’ve got specimens enough for manufacture. Or you could have made an offer for the harvesting rights. I mean, at this point we won’t be likely to negotiate with you, but you could probably still try. It would be amusing at least, and Rose and I could do with a laugh these days.”

“And why would I want to _buy_ the rights when I could _sell_ them myself?” Saxon said. “Or at least, have someone from my end sell them. Keep the profits in the family, as it were.”

“Because once other companies figure out what makes Vitex work, they’ll all want it,” John mused, “and with power over Bucknall _and_ the manufacturer, you and Torchwood would have a controlling stake in everything.”

“Which I would _obviously_ share with you, John. I suppose you could cut Rose Tyler in on your part if you want, but of course it would be by way of investment in Torchwood and H.C. Clements. Can’t have the returns all run away from me.”

“And other than money, why should I do this?”

Saxon leaned back in his chair with a shrug. “The way might clear up for a nice, controversy-free wedding. You could use that money to buy an engagement ring for your lady love over there.” He finished with a nod to their side. John turned with a start - Rose was sitting at the bar, chatting with Lucy. “Oh, how lovely, she and Lucy seem to be hitting it off very well. It wouldn’t do to have her left out when the three of us know each other so _intimately_.”

John tried to tamp down on his panic and the bile rising in his throat. Saxon had laid a lot on the table and it explained so much - why he’d been skulking around Bucknall, Sir James’s attempts to marry Rose, Dorium’s continued interest in the area. It occurred to him that Dorium might have even discovered how much weed plant grew there when John showed him to the plot for his growing operation. Now Saxon wanted to close the loop on the manufacture of his star product so he could profit at every step. Rose had made it clear she wasn’t interested in marriage, which made going through John his Plan B. And now John’s fate at Bucknall, and with Rose, hinged on Saxon no matter what - either he turned him down and never got to be with her at best, or had his reputation exposed and everything ruined at worst, or he went along with it and perhaps got what he wanted, but remained in Saxon’s pocket for who knew how long. 

Saxon had stood up and started talking again, and John shook himself out of his thoughts. “I’ll give you some time to think about it. Obviously you have more than just yourself to consider here, but this could be a _lovely_ Christmas present.” He offered his hand for John to shake, but John ignored it. “Happy Christmas, Theta. I’ll speak to you again before the new year.” Saxon’s bodyguards flanked him as he left, stopping to fetch Lucy and sending a saccharine grin to Rose. Once he was gone, John downed the last of his beer in a few gulps and shoved back from the table, grabbing Rose’s hand and taking them home. 

“What the hell were you doing there?” he hissed as she snatched her hand back, once they were on the sidewalk. 

“You really think I was going to let you go in there alone?” she retorted. “Sharing the burden, John. You can’t keep doing this by yourself.”

“No, I can’t,” John sighed, running his hand through his hair as he hailed a cab. “I actually cannot, Saxon hasn’t given me a choice there.” They drove home silently, and called for Jenny and Vastra to come over. John was going to need everyone he could get on his side now.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team starts planning. Then there's some smut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up for discussion of death in John's past.
> 
> The smut made this run long. You're welcome.

The townhouse was thick with tension as soon as the door shut. John wandered off into one of the unused rooms, muttering about needing to take something apart. That left Rose alone for a few hours before dinner, at which Jenny and Vastra would be joining them. She very much wanted John to tell her everything about his conversation with Saxon, but knew it was best to let him blow off a little steam on his own, and wait until everyone was present so he wouldn’t have to repeat himself.

Instead, she moved through the house quietly, noticing all the little ways they had made it feel lived in, even after only a week. A book missing from a shelf here, an arrangement of blue and white violets on a sideboard there, the roll-top desk now open and stocked with pens and paper, scattered with notes and correspondence. Rose eventually settled in the parlour with, of all things, a bit of embroidery, finding herself in need of a distraction of her own. This, at least, felt like a useful craft, since it was meant as a wedding gift for Mickey and Martha. 

With her hands busy, Rose reflected on the short interaction she’d had with the woman she’d met at the pub. Lucy, her name was. From the way she and Saxon were both dressed, Rose had guessed that they were together - Lucy’s fine red coat was rather conspicuous. Rose had found her pleasant in a rigorously practised way, and discovered that she, too, had known John in the days before he’d moved to Bucknall. Much like Reinette, Lucy seemed to know John quite well. Rose had had to tamp down her instinctive jealousy, and tried to steer the topic towards Saxon.

Lucy hadn’t seemed to know much more about the man than Rose had learned from John. Somehow Lucy was entranced by the story, or at least enjoyed the benefits enough not to care. At any rate, she wasn’t privy to his work, though she’d indicated the area of the City where his offices were, and that his personal office was on the very top floor of a tall building.

Rose completed the last of the tiny stitches making up the myrtle leaf she was working on and put the fabric aside again. Restless, she hunted down Gwen, finding her downstairs, doing some sewing of her own with Amelia.

“Rose,” Gwen said as she stood, “I’ve no idea what John’s doing in there, but I’ve a feeling it may result in some property damage.”

A loud clang sounded from the back room Gwen had indicated, followed by a string of curses. Some of them Rose recognised as terms unique to John’s northern upbringing, spewed in a pronounced accent she only heard when he was upset. 

“At least he knows how to fix what he breaks,” Rose sighed.

“Usually,” Amelia corrected. “Mrs. Grant still hasn’t forgiven him for that icebox.”

Something else crashed. “It’s been a long day for him,” Rose said. “Gwen, were you able to do that shopping for me?”

“I was, I’ve left everything in your wardrobe,” she said. “I do hope everything is helpful.”

Rose could tell what Gwen was referring to by the concerned and curious look on her face. “I’m sure it will be, thank you.”

Ianto joined them in time for another _bang_ from John. “Your ladyship, Madame Vastra has rung to indicate that she will be bringing another guest to dinner this evening.”

“Oh?”

“She said that you and Mr. Smith may require her assistance in some of your affairs,” Ianto explained.

Rose shrugged. “Set the table for five, then. Amelia, I do hope this won’t inconvenience you.” Another shout from the back room. “And if he’s disturbing you, you’re welcome to the front parlour. The sound shouldn’t carry that far.”

***

Of all the people who could have been waiting when John finally finished breaking things and got ready for dinner, River Song was the last person he had expected. But there she was, with her enigmatic smile and barely-tamed curls, chatting amiably with Rose, Vastra, and Jenny.

“Ms. Song. What a… nice surprise.”

“Vastra thought you might need my help,” River said, dropping air kisses on both of John’s cheeks. “And I said, anything for John Smith. Especially once she told me who you were dealing with. You deserve the best, sweetie.”

John didn’t miss Rose’s glare at River’s back, and remained confused until after dinner was served and some explanations had been made.

“River has been one of our best informants,” Vastra said. “She has access and connections in places Jenny and I could never get to on our own.”

“Like the inner workings of Torchwood,” River smiled. “When you have the right money, some things just… fall in your lap!”

“And where does that ‘right’ money come from, Ms. Song?” Rose asked icily. John was a bit startled by her tone.

River waved the question off. “Oh, here and there. The family has quite old money, though I’m the only one left, so I can do what I will.”

John glanced from Vastra to Jenny. He trusted them, but Jenny tended to think more prudently. 

“She’s safe, John, Rose,” Jenny said. “She’s loyal to us - and to you.”

With that, John took a deep breath and relayed everything that had happened with Saxon that day, what they’d learned before, and the predicament he and Rose now found themselves in, especially with regards to her inheritance. Rose filled in where she could, while River listened intently to everything.

At the end of it all, with everyone processing the information, Rose broke the silence. “I think we ought to call for dessert.”

Amelia’s creme brulee was wonderful, but overshadowed by everything else. River set down her spoon decisively. 

“I don’t think I need to tell you how deep you’re in, John,” she said, “but it’s far. Saxon’s ambitions go beyond having a wildly profitable business. It’s a launchpad for a political career.”

John nearly choked. “Really? Of all the- he’s never been interested in government. Hates the establishment. We were always playing pranks together and his were usually aimed at ruining anything set up by an institution. He even ran for mayor as a joke once. The council convinced him he’d actually been elected and he trashed the place. But why? I just… I don’t get it.”

River sipped at her water before answering. “Honestly, other than sheer ambition, I don’t know. Every time I’ve met him, my main impression is that he’s obsessed with power. Every situation, he wanted to be in charge and have people follow him. Party politics… it’s one way to have that, I suppose.”

“But why _you_ , John?” Jenny asked. “I mean, no offense, but if that’s what he’s after, you’re not exactly in a position to give it.”

“Other than a money making opportunity,” Vastra added. “But you’re right, there _are_ other ways to go about this, and he’s choosing you, even though it practically ruins your life for no reason.”

John tapped at the last bit of caramelised sugar in his dish. “It’s probably _because_ it will ruin my life. Because I kind of ruined his.”

“I thought you were best friends,” Rose said.

“We were,” John sighed. “But when our parents died, it might have been my fault.”

Rose scooted her chair closer to John so she could rest a reassuring hand on his arm while he spoke. “What happened?”

John glanced around the table, willing himself to focus on Rose to make the telling easier on himself. “I told you they died in the same accident, right? They were teachers together at our school, my mum and dad, and his father - his mother died when we were little. I was messing around with a few things in the science lab one evening while they were in a meeting, something I’d done a hundred times before. Koschei - that’s what his parents named him - convinced me to ah, go do something else, but I didn’t clean up properly. There was a delayed reaction with some of the chemicals… and while we were out there was an explosion. The meeting had ended, and our parents were coming to get us from the lab…” He trailed off, eyes hazy, Rose’s hand clutching his the only anchor on his reality.

“And he blamed you,” Vastra murmured.

“I had my brother, but Koschei was alone,” John continued. “We offered him a place to stay, Irving tried to take care of him too, but… it was too much. He and I left a few years later.”

“John,” Rose said, turning his face to hers. “John, it wasn’t your fault. You were just a kid. It was an accident.”

“I know. _I_ know. It took me a long time, but I did eventually realise that. But Koschei…”

“He’s never forgiven you,” Jenny said.

John shook his head. “And he’s known, ever since we parted ways, what I’ve been doing, where I’ve been working, who I’ve been seeing - and just _waiting_ for this moment.”

“Okay,” River said. “So we know what he wants, and why he’s involving you. Next is how we foil his plans.”

“No offense, Ms. Song, but other than working for his friends, why do you care?” Rose snapped.

River fixed Rose with her infuriating little smile for a long, long moment. “Because, Lady Powell, I think Saxon is a menace, and John is a good man. He’s certainly been _good_ to me.” She glanced at John with an eyebrow quirked. “Other than being his employer, why do _you_ care?”

“I care because I _love_ him,” Rose countered vehemently. “I don’t know if you missed the part where our relationship is a significant chunk of Saxon’s blackmail, but just in case, John’s who I want to spend my life with. I’m not letting him go through this alone.”

Jenny and Vastra observed the standoff nervously, but John was stunned. He hadn’t expected her to say that, or at least not in that way. But she had, and there it was in the fierce set of her jaw and narrowed eyes, daring River to say something foolish. John squeezed Rose’s hand. 

“Fair enough,” River finally said, raising her hands in deference. “I didn’t realise you two were truly _that_ close. My apologies.”

“Thank you,” Rose said, only relaxing a little bit. “I do appreciate your help, truly.”

That settled for the time being, they returned to discussing Saxon and what might be done about him. They wrapped up well after dessert with rather little decided, other than Vastra and Jenny increasing surveillance and investigating the area Lucy had said Saxon’s office was. With a promise to meet again before John and Rose returned to Bucknall, they and River headed home.

John followed Rose back into the parlour from the hall, hands in his pockets. “That was quite the evening.”

“Indeed,” Rose said, fussing over a flower arrangement that didn’t need adjustment.

“I’m sorry about River,” he continued. “I had no idea she’d be coming, or that she’s still so… interested in me.”

“She seems more that just _interested_.”

“Rose Tyler, are you jealous?” John teased. 

“Maybe a little.”

John wrapped his arms around her from behind and murmured in her ear. “Don’t be. I’m all yours now, Rose.”

He felt her shudder at his words against her skin, and she looked over her shoulder, tongue peeking out of her smile. “Is that so?”

“Oh yes,” he said. “One hundred per cent.”

“I meant what I said to her, you know,” Rose answered, turning in his arms and sliding hers around his neck. 

“Yeah?” John almost squeaked. “What- what did you tell her, again?”

“That I plan on spending my life with you,” she beamed.

“Ah yes. And why is that?”

“Because I love you, John.”

John felt like his heart would beat its way out of his chest, and that the grin on his face might become permanent. “I love you too, Rose. Oh so much.”

Rose pulled him down to kiss her with a hand on the back of his neck, her fingers playing with his hair the way he liked. John hummed happily against her lips, trying to maintain contact despite the smiles playing across their faces. Finally Rose gave up and pulled back, laughing. 

“I didn’t really think I’d say it, much less to someone other than you first,” she confessed. “But it just came out… and it felt right. Like I was meant to.”

“Mmm. It was nice to hear something positive tonight.”

“Yeah, it was a bit of a rough meal. It wore me out.”

“Then lets get you to bed.” John kept his hand on the small of Rose’s back as they slowly went upstairs, and stopped to kiss her again before going to his room to change.

“You’re coming back here, though?” Rose said it as more of a statement than a question.

“Of course,” he said. “I’ve gotten too used to sharing your bed.”

***

Rose couldn’t wait for Gwen to be finished with her so John could come back. It was a good thing she’d had her maid go to the chemist’s for her today, though, because after that evening Rose really didn’t want a repeat of the other night.

After confirming that Gwen had purchased the correct items, Rose slipped into the loo, giving instructions to let John into her bedroom if he was ready. She examined the box in her hands, kicking herself and sighing. She should have kept the diaphragm she’d bought at school, but she’d anticipated leading a rather less scandalous life once she’d returned home. No matter, she had a new one now. Rose washed her hands, carefully prepared the device, and slipped it inside herself. 

She regarded herself critically in the mirror, toying with her hair and studying her eyes. _You could still be pregnant_ , said a voice in the back of her head. Rose turned to the side and pulled her nightgown up to her chest. Did her stomach look rounder? It didn’t seem all that different. She slid her hand over her skin, resting it right below her navel, and it didn’t feel any different either. Maybe Martha was right, and it was just stress.

A knock sounded from the door and she jumped. “Rose? Are you okay in there?”

“Yes, just a minute.” She let the fabric fall back around her legs and opened the door. John was waiting for her in his pyjamas and a gentle smile. “Hi.”

“Hello. Ready for bed?”

“Mmhmm.” Rose leaned up on her toes to kiss him, then turned out the light in the loo. 

“I was thinking, after the other night,” John said as they climbed into bed, “I might look into some, ah, prophylactics, so next time is less risky. That is, if there _is_ a next time, if you want one, obviously. You don’t have to decide about it now, but I just supposed it’d do some good to be prepared, and it might be easier for me to procure a, um, device, than it would be for you-”

Rose silenced him with a finger on his lips and a giggle. “I think you’re on the right track there, but I’m already ahead of you.” She pushed the blankets aside shifted over, settling aside John’s lap. “I was actually just getting _prepared_ back there.”

John’s eyes went wide and he nipped at Rose’s finger. “Oh. _Ohhh_. You’re brilliant, you are.”

“I thought so.” She pressed John back against the pillows slowly, cradling his face as she kissed him deeply. John steadied her with a hand on her hip, firmly squeezing the flesh and bone. He let Rose lavish him with attention for a few moments, submitting to her lips at his throat and her fingers plucking at his buttons, before he deftly flipped them over. Rose squeaked out a laugh that faded into sighs of pleasure as John peppered her face and neck with kisses. She pushed his pyjama shirt from his shoulders as he moved to the exposed V of skin at her chest, but he didn’t falter. His hands caressed her hair, her arms, and all over her abdomen, soon making their way to her breasts. Rose breathed his name and he looked up at her curiously, playing with the ribbons decorating her neckline.

“Yes, love?”

She shook her head and brushed his hair back from his forehead. “Nothing, just… just keep going.”

“That won’t be a problem.” He met her lips with his and rocked his hips into hers. Rose felt him hardening against her and her throat caught. She had to tear her face away and gasp, feeling her body arch into him in kind, quite out of her own control.

John didn’t let up, shifting his weight to one arm so he could reach down to the hem of Rose’s nightgown and smooth his hand over her calf, up to her knee, back down to her ankle, up again and under the fabric to her thigh. He was focused, determined, and despite her attempts Rose could barely muster a response aside from murmured _yes_ es and strokes of his strong shoulders. Before she knew it, he had her nightgown up to her waist and she was squirming out from under him to pull it off and toss it away.

She felt more exposed than she’d ever been, with John holding himself above her and raking his eyes over her body. They both took deep, long breaths, trying to steady themselves. 

“You’re so beautiful,” John blurted out. Rose realised that the cabin had been dark, and they hadn’t really seen each other properly until now.

“So are you,” she answered, tracing a line around John’s chest and down his abdomen to his trousers. “From what I can see, anyway.” She toyed with his drawstring, but he moved her hand away.

“Plenty of time for that later,” he murmured. “There’s something else I’d like to do first.” He ducked his head and closed his mouth over her left breast, teasing her nipple with his tongue while his fingers worked the other side. Rose gasped and dug her nails into John’s arms, arching up as his mouth and hand switched places, carding his hair as he centred himself and kissed his way, slowly, down her stomach.

He dragged a finger lightly against the juncture of her thigh and pelvis, and Rose whimpered. Her body fidgeted while he hesitated, his warm breath fluttering the now-damp curls between her legs. 

“Rose,” he ventured, and she opened her eyes. “May I…?”

“Yes, yes you may, please…”

Before she knew it, Rose felt John’s lips against her centre, his tongue methodically exploring her folds. He breathed deeply against her, lapped up the moisture that had been growing there, and Rose fought to keep her eyes open. Occasionally she caught him looking at her, and she nodded, affirming each change in pressure or movement with nods and growing cries. Her hand in John’s hair urged him to continue, and his tongue found her aching clit. Rose yelped and shot nearly upright, and John tried to hold her still with one hand, while two slender, calloused fingers on the other teased her opening and curled inside deliberately. Rose’s own fingers curled into John’s hair and the bedsheets as he increased his efforts. Her voice moved from cursing and affirmations to cries and barely coherent pleas, to one long, shuddering moan as her pleasure crested and broke over her. 

John pulled back from her slowly, one thumb brushing her curls, while he gingerly disentangled her clenched fist from his hair. “You okay there?”

“ _Yes_ ,” she breathed emphatically. “Oh God yes.” Rose blinked her vision back into focus as John crawled back up alongside her, stretching out and caressing her flushed cheek. She chuckled and wiggled her toes, turning to face him. “You’re amazing,” she said, following it with a long kiss, savouring the taste of herself on his lips and tongue.

“Mmm. I do my best.”

Rose pulled John closer by his hip and slid her fingers under the back of his waistband. As her mind cleared and she recovered from her climax, she became more bold, her kisses more urgent, her hand diving into his pyjama bottoms and grasping his cock without hesitation. Her touch made him falter, enough that Rose could roll him onto his back and divest him of those trousers expediently. She sat up in triumph, straddling his legs. 

“See something you like?” he asked.

“I see a lot of somethings I like,” she answered, leaning over him. “I like these-” She kissed his lips. “And this-” His neck. “And these, and this…” She catalogued his chest, his nipples, his navel, and each hipbone in turn, sliding back along the bed. “But I have a feeling I’ll _really_ like _this_.”

With that, she enveloped most of his proudly erect cock in her mouth, and John groaned loudly. “Oh _fuck_ , Rose,” he gasped as she worked him with her lips and hands for a few moments. 

She released him delicately and moved back up his body. “That’s the plan,” she purred in his ear, nipping at his earlobe before sitting up, shifting her hips back and forth over his erection, letting it slide along her slick and swollen folds. Her own breath caught as John flexed his fingertips into her thighs, and she positioned him at her entrance to finally, slowly sink down. 

Rose settled in, chin dropping to her chest as she savoured taking John inside of her once again. She rocked and swivelled her hips, enjoying the delicious feeling of fullness and the sound of John struggling to control his breaths between his moans and babbling. He smoothed his hands up to her hips and encouraged Rose to lift up and come back down, thrusting up to meet her. Her thighs trembled with exertion and growing pleasure, and she leaned forward to brace herself on John’s shoulders and kiss him hard. He’d planted his feet on the bed and she could feel his restraint, holding himself back from bucking into her or flipping them over. Instead he cupped her breasts as they hung over him, tracing her nipples with his thumbs, leaning up to nip at her collarbones. 

She shivered at the attention and sat back up, scraping her nails down John’s chest as she did, and sped up her movements, squeezing him with her inner walls. His eyes shut tight and his mouth dropped open, silently urging her on, as his thumb found her clit. Rose cried out, his name at first, then wordless sounds, shouted at the ceiling as her head fell back and she succumbed to a second climax. John drove up into her pulsing centre a few more times, spilling out with a long groan, barely able to catch Rose as she keened and sank to his chest. His arms came around her and he stroked her back, shining with sweat, and she breathed in the scent of him from the crook of his neck. 

John turned to kiss her temple. “Fantastic,” he murmured. “You’re fantastic.” Rose smirked and squeezed him from inside again, making him hiss. “Minx.” 

Rose giggled and made her way up and off John carefully, rolling to his side and extending her arms above her head in a languid stretch. “You love it.”

“Oh, I do.” He propped himself up on one arm to gaze down at her. “Thought you said you were worn out, though?”

“Only on talking and investigating,” she said. “Not for you.”

“Investigating? That’s too bad,” John replied, brushing the backs of his fingers over her stomach. “I can think of a number of things I’d like to investigate here in this bedroom.” 

He tangled their limbs and drew their bodies back together, catching Rose’s answering laugh in a kiss.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SIIIIIIMPLY
> 
> HAAAAVING 
> 
> A WONDERFUL CHRISTMASTIME. 
> 
> That's my Christmas earworm, and now it's yours too. There's good news, and there's bad news, and there's holiday fluff for you in the middle of August, because that's how I roll.

John sometimes wondered if it wasn’t a bit dangerous how much he was enjoying this time in the City with Rose. They spent almost all of their time together during those two weeks - working, meals, excursions, quiet time at home, and of course, every night, in Rose’s large and comfortable bed. Experience told him that nothing good could last, the calendar said that they had to go back to Bucknall soon, and recent events reminded him of how fragile their happiness was. Still, on a cold morning, with grey December light peering through the sheer drapes, John could watch Rose sleep, her back pressed to his front and her golden hair loose around her face, and forget about everything outside the room for a little while. 

It was their last morning in the townhouse, and as usual John had woken well before Rose. He took a little extra time snuggled under the blankets with her, studying the way her eyelashes lay on her cheeks and the slight part of her lips, before pressing his to her temple. She shifted and settled back down, a little smile forming to acknowledge his attention, and John carefully slipped out of bed. 

They’d established a comfortable routine shortly after arriving, and John felt a little sad to be going through it for the last time. He padded down the hall to his room, finding his clothes laid out for him. John was still not entirely comfortable with the idea of having a valet at all, but Rose was insistent and John wanted Ianto to keep his job, so he and Ianto had compromised - the valet would care for his belongings and help him with formalwear, but in the mornings John would be left on his own. Once dressed, he headed downstairs to the dining room, taking up the newspaper and helping himself to breakfast. He added a heap of sugar to his tea and stirred it aimlessly as he skimmed the headlines and munched on toast.

By the time Rose came down he’d long finished the paper and his food, and had moved on to a fifth cup of tea and a novel he’d found in the study the week before. She kissed him good morning before getting her own breakfast. Soon Ianto arrived with a few messages, and confirmed their travel plans for the day before going to make sure everything was packed and tidied up. John rang Vastra and Jenny before they left but there hadn’t been any developments. 

As they all left the townhouse later that morning, John noticed a figure leaning up against a tree across the street. He locked eyes with the man as he waited for Rose to get in the car - it was Saxon. John glared at him, but Saxon just smirked, tipped his hat, and walked away into the snow. 

“Mr. Smith? The house is locked up, are you ready?” 

John shook his head. “Sorry Ianto. Yes, let’s go.”

***

“ROSE! You’re home!”

Anthony nearly knocked Rose to the ground as he ran across the Hall and threw his arms around his big sister. Rose laughed and knelt down to hug him back, but it was short lived as the boy turned his attention to John. John swung Anthony up and piggybacked him into the library, where Lady Jacqueline was taking tea. Anthony talked a mile a minute, informing John and Rose of all the very important things they’d missed while they were away.

“...And Rory cleared off the pond for us to go skating but the next day it snowed almost up to my knees! And then Jack taught me how to make a periscope with little mirrors and a box, but Miss Clara took it away because I was spying on people with it. You and Rose aren’t going away again soon are you?”

“I certainly don’t plan on it,” John said, depositing Anthony on the couch and sitting back as if he wasn’t there. Anthony giggled and squirmed out from behind John, taking off to go find the latest treasure he wanted to show everyone. 

Lady Jacqueline was still embracing Rose tightly. John stood up and immediately regretted it as he became the next target, complete with big kisses on both cheeks. “It’s so good to see you, John!”

“And you, my lady.”

“Oh, I’ve told you I’ll have none of that from you, just Jacqueline, please. Sit, I’ll ring for some tea. You two must be tired.”

“We’re fine, Mum,” Rose said. “Did you manage all right here?”

“Better once that prat Stuart went home. Almost had to shove him into the car and drive him myself, he took so long,” Lady Jacqueline said. “And he kept asking for the key to your study, Rose, which of course I don’t have, and Mrs. Smith refused to give it him without your permission. He was quite annoyed with that.”

Anthony bounded back in with a book and climbed up on the sofa next to John, showing him how far he’d read and his favourite parts. Rory arrived with the tea tray, and told John and Rose that Mr. Mott had a large amount of post for the two of them. Rose sighed and asked him to have the butler send it up to her study later. “I’ll unlock it for him myself. I’m glad Stuart’s gone home, too,” Rose said, turning to her mother. “I really don’t feel like spending the holidays with anyone extra this year.”

“Nor do I,” Lady Jacqueline agreed. “Sir James invited us to his Christmas party, and I declined for all of us. I’m sure if you want to go he wouldn’t mind a last minute change, but-”

“No,” Rose said. “I just want my family this year.” 

And so she had it, quiet and a bit melancholy, but still happy. Ordinarily Mickey would be included, but he was visiting Martha’s family, finally meeting her parents. They’d decorated the tree before John and Rose left for the City. On Christmas Eve they read Dickens together, Anthony was tucked into bed, and the adults tucked their presents beneath the tree. John was cautiously excited about everything - he was thrilled to be spending the holiday with Rose, but acutely aware of Lord Powell’s absence. Rose had discovered a small trove of gifts, purchased well in advance, when she was going through her father’s things, and John felt awkward watching Lady Jacqueline burst into tears upon receiving hers. He felt an entirely different sort of awkward when she opened her gift from John and threw her arms around him in an enormous hug. 

“It’s just a scarf-”

“It’s just _lovely_ , is what it is, thank you so much,” Lady Jacqueline insisted. Indeed, the fine, dark pink silk was beautiful and suited its recipient well. 

“Rose! This one’s for you from John!” Anthony announced, delivering a small box from the tree to Rose’s lap. 

“Is it now?” She smiled and saw John watching her expectantly as she untied the blue ribbon around the box and opened the lid. “Oh, John,” she breathed. “John, it’s… it’s gorgeous.” Rose lifted out a long gold chain with a circular pendant on the end, embossed with a swirling, symmetrical design. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome,” he said.

“Help me put it on?”

John sat down next to Rose and took the necklace from her to fasten the chain around her neck. It shone brilliantly against her black dress. “It looks perfect.”

Rose held the pendant and glanced down at it, smiling. “Wherever did you find it?”

“It… it was my mother’s,” John said softly. “The symbol’s from her family crest. I wasn’t able to hang on to a lot of things from back home, but I managed to keep this.”

“John, you shouldn’t have.”

“I think she’d have liked you very much, Rose,” he continued, “and she would have been very excited to have you as part of our family. I really wish you could have met her.”

Rose fought back tears and pulled John in for a kiss and a hug. “I would have liked that,” she murmured. “Thank you.”

Despite the empty spaces, it was a lovely holiday. They skated on the pond until they couldn’t feel their noses, even Lady Jacqueline taking a few turns. John kissed Rose sweetly under the mistletoe that Mr. Mott had hung in the entrance to the library. They pulled crackers at the dinner table and wore the silly paper hats and came up with much better jokes than the ones inside the crackers. The servants who hadn’t gone home came upstairs after dinner to play games and drink mulled wine and hot apple cider with the family. Boxing Day passed in much the same way, a respite from the worries outside the snow-covered House.

***

“Post for you, your ladyship.”

“Thank you, Mott.” Rose took the bundle of letters from the butler and flipped through them. 

Breakfast on the twenty-seventh of December was no different than any other breakfast, though with a few belated Christmas cards in the post. Lady Jacqueline sighed and tried to get her son to sit still, but Anthony squirmed until John noticed Rose’s expression and frowned.

“What is it?”

“It’s from some law firm I don’t recognise,” she said, carefully opening the envelope. John and Lady Jacqueline watched Rose’s eyes flick back and forth over the paper, and Anthony fidgeted without his partner in crime’s attention. “Stuart’s contesting your trusteeship in court.”

“Oh for the love of-” Lady Jacqueline caught herself before she could let a curse slip out. 

“He can do that?” John asked.

“Evidently,” Rose said, passing the letter to John. “He thinks you’re unfit for the job.”

“Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. The man’s like a spoiled child, throwing a fit because he can’t have his way.” Lady Jacqueline continued to cluck about Stuart’s various failings while John read. 

Rose reached over and rested her hand on John’s arm. “I’ll call our lawyers as soon as we’re done breakfast. You’re staying put.” John smiled weakly and turned back to his toast while Rose perused the rest of her mail, deciding most of it could wait until she was in her study. 

The lawyers agreed to come by the House the next day, and Rose worked steadily through the morning catching up on everything that had accumulated over the holidays. John went out to visit some tenants and returned for luncheon, after which he and Rose sat down to discuss Saxon.

“Do you think Stuart’s case is related?” Rose asked.

John shook his head. “Doubt it. None of the folks at Clements even knew Stuart until he met Sir James. But I wouldn’t be surprised if Saxon keeps his eye on the proceedings.”

“ _If_ he finds out about them.”

“He will. I’m involved, he’ll know. I don’t know how, but he’ll know.” 

Rose watched John swivel back and forth in his chair, a recent addition to the study. They’d set up his own desk in the room after the fire in his workshop, and Rose had to admit there was something pleasing about the two of them working alongside each other like this. She wondered about convincing him to keep his office in the House once the workshop was rebuilt. 

“Could we make a counter-offer? He could lease some of the land, perhaps? Or maybe see about planting it in the spring, making a real crop out of it. I think that field by the Yateses might do.”

“I don’t know…”

“We have to try _something_. I know you feel like he’s got this stranglehold on you, but when it comes down to it, this is about business,” Rose said. “Let’s make a business proposition, at least see how it goes.”

“Rose, I don’t want him controlling any part of Bucknall. I don’t trust him not to cause trouble out here,” John said, resting his arms on her desk. 

“I know.” She leaned across and took his hands. “But keep your enemies closer, right? If we set up a partnership, we could keep an eye on things at this end, and you wouldn’t have to work for him directly. We might even make a decent amount of money out of the deal.” 

“And if he doesn’t go for it?”

Rose didn’t really have an answer for that. “Can we cross that bridge when we come to it?”

John rubbed his thumbs over the backs of Rose’s hands and didn’t meet her eyes. “Let’s work on that proposal, then.”

***

The days counted down to New Year’s Eve. The lawyers visited and options were discussed, a court date set for sometime in January. John scouted some fields and researched the domestication of _Herbabaculum vitae_. Mickey and Martha returned to town, and Rose finally heard back from Dr. Constantine.

The report arrived in the evening post, a plain envelope with nothing to identify the sender. Rose and John were wrapping things up for the day, about to go get ready for dinner, when Mr. Mott brought in the mail. 

Rose felt a twinge in her abdomen and then noticed the letterhead, as if her body anticipated that it was the topic. Quickly scanning to the body of the letter, she stared at the words and then went back to the top and read the whole thing properly. 

“Rose?” John was standing on her side of her desk, right at her side. She hadn’t even heard him get up. “Is everything all right?”

“Yeah,” she said on a long, heavy exhale. “I’m- I’m not pregnant.”

John blinked a few times and his mouth gaped. “You’re not?”

Rose shook her head. “Nope. According to this, anyway.” She smiled wryly, handed him the letter and watched him read it. “About time we got some good news, I suppose.”

John put the letter down and pulled Rose to her feet, wrapping her in his arms. For once it seemed like he really didn’t know what to say.

***

Mickey and Martha joined them for dinner that night, regaling everyone with stories of Mickey meeting her family. Rose had anticipated that it might be quite the adventure, remembering the fond exasperation with which Martha had always described her parents and siblings. Mickey positively glowed while Martha spoke, his adoration for her clear.

Rose brought her friend up to her room after dinner, anxious for some girls only time. They got out Rose’s secret bottle of gin, barely touched since her birthday party, and Rose blew the dust off it with a laugh. 

“Shareen gave this to me for my birthday. She’d be so disappointed in how little I’ve drank,” Rose said, handing Martha a glass. 

“I hardly even see her anymore. Or Keisha,” Martha said. “We’ve written a bit, but…”

Rose screwed up her face at the alcohol’s burn. “They did the season together this year, I think they stayed in the City, mostly. We always talked about meeting up when I was there, but never did.” She sighed as they sat down by the fire. “I heard back from Dr. Constantine. I’m not pregnant.”

“Well that’s a relief, isn’t it?”

“God yes. And of course, my monthly arrived at some point between getting the letter and changing for dinner. It’s like it was waiting for permission to show up.” 

Martha laughed. “Bodies are funny that way.” They were quiet for a moment. “You seem a little sad.”

“It’s just… there’s a lot going on. Sure, it’s good news, but I mean… it’d have been John’s. There’s something pleasing about that thought, you know?”

“Of course. You love each other, it’s easy to picture having a family together. I think about it with Mickey all the time,” she said. “Did you tell him?”

“I did. I told him right after I’d done the test, and he was there today when I got the results. He kinda feels the same way, I think. Relieved, but also a little sad.” Rose sighed, playing with the pendant, sliding it back and forth on its chain. 

“I’m a little surprised he hasn’t proposed by now.”

“Hah,” Rose chuckled. “He gave me his mother’s necklace for Christmas. I think that’s about a close to a proposal I’m ever going to get out of him. He’s had a rough past, says his reputation would ruin my family and he won’t do that to us.”

“What happened?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know everything, it’s difficult for him to talk about. But I know he worked for a crime ring for a while, was involved in drugs and enforcement, and he has enemies that would tell a lot more if he doesn’t cooperate with them. One is giving him a hard time right now.”

“You might just have to ask him yourself,” Martha teased.

“Don’t tempt me! If I didn’t think he’d do a runner…” She sighed. “I believe what he says, Martha. I’ve met a few of these people, they’re capable of a lot. If it weren’t for this whole debacle with the estate, and Uncle Stuart challenging John’s trusteeship, I’d be a lot less concerned. I’d just, I don’t know, keep him around and never marry. But now I have to marry someone, and I don’t want it to be anyone else.”

“You have a few years,” Martha said gently. “A lot could change.” 

“I know. I’m trying not to think about the marriage part, just helping John with his problems and dealing with Uncle Stuart. The lawyers don’t think Stuart has a very good case, but that’s another issue that would just… go away if I got married.” 

“I’m sorry, Rose. It sounds like such a mess.”

“Thanks. Christmas helped, to be honest, and I’m so glad you’re back. It’s nice to talk to someone other than John about all this.”

“Pleased to be of assistance,” Martha said, tipping her glass towards Rose. They talked more about things in Bucknall and Martha’s wedding plans as they finished their drinks, until Martha reluctantly went home.


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John finally tells Rose everything.

Somehow Rose and John were convinced to attend Sir James’s New Year’s Eve party even though in their bones they felt like it would be a bad idea. Lady Jacqueline wanted all of them to get out of the House, be social, and try to have a good time. “We can’t stay cooped up in here moping forever,” she said. “This is as good a chance as any to reconnect with the neighbours.”

Rose tried to point out that it wasn’t _moping_ , it was a socially accepted period of withdrawal to _mourn_ , but her mother was insistent, so Rose found a black dress with some sparkle to it in the back of her wardrobe and went along.

It was a decadent affair to be sure. Sir James seemed to like getting the most expensive version of anything just to say that he could, and so imported champagne flowed, a horde of servants served hors d’oeurves and a dinner prepared by a chef from a five-star hotel in the City, and an entire orchestra played music all night. A who’s who of society took over Peckham Hall in a swirl of white ties and glittering dresses. They drank and ate and laughed and danced, barely sobering when made to speak to the Tyler women. There was a vibration running through their greetings and condolences and so-nice-to-see-yous, a kind of anxiety fuelled by genuine discomfort around the recently bereaved and impatience to be done with the attendant niceties and go back to getting absolutely blotto on someone else’s dime. 

Rose and John were sick of it by the end of the first course. 

Lady Jacqueline, on the other hand, was thrilled to be out socialising and brushed off any pitying glances in favour of more wine. Widowhood had brought out a variety of ever-changing behaviours in her, ranging from smothering her children (and by extension, John) with affection, to locking herself in her room and weeping all day. ON this occasion she sang John and Rose’s praises to everyone who would listen (and some who wouldn’t), danced with every partner who was willing (and some who weren’t), and drank every cocktail that was offered to her (and at least one that wasn’t). She was rapidly on her way to causing a scene, something only averted by intervention from compassionate bystanders. 

John observed one of these incidents from the other side of the room, and prepared to dash over regardless of how many people were in his way. Thankfully, Martha was nearby and was able to help Lady Jacqueline, preventing any unfortunate collisions on either of their parts. He sighed in relief and returned to his drink. Sir James’s whiskey was not nearly as good as Lord Powell’s. John wondered if there was any left at the House, and if anyone knew the name of it so he could buy more. Mr. Mott probably knew. He’d ask him tomorrow.

He scanned the room, looking for Rose. The young woman she was speaking with seemed vaguely familiar; Rose seemed to be trying to be more invested in the conversation than she actually was. She hadn’t noticed her mother, then. 

It seemed like some other people had, though. Behind him John picked up on the sound of the Tyler name, and shifted to better hear what they were saying.

“...the poor dear, she’s just lost her husband,” a woman said.

“Oh, she’s always been a little uncouth,” a man replied. “Came from some backwater, daughter of an incredibly minor baronet. Peter Tyler was marrying far beneath him if you ask me.”

“Don’t be unkind, James.”

John had thought he’d recognised their host’s voice, and the woman confirmed it. He grit his teeth.

“The truth has no space for kindness, dear. I suppose moving to an estate as poor as Bucknall wouldn’t have been that much of a shock for her. They have the most ridiculous tenants, no wonder they hardly have any money.”

“And you could do better?”

“Oh, certainly. There are valuable resources here that _I_ wouldn’t let go to waste. Unfortunately the _new_ Lady Powell seems to have worse standards than her father. She turned down my proposal last fall.”

“What a shame.”

“At least she said she’d consider the one I made tonight.”

John nearly choked, and missed whatever was said next. Sir James continued.

“It would be her loss, really. Without a husband she forfeits her claim on the estate and it sits in trusteeship until her brother comes of age. She’d have a title but no land. And I know for a fact that she’s got no _real_ marriage prospects, they’ve all been… strongly discouraged.”

“But _you_ aren’t?”

“That’s because I know something they don’t. The land is the only thing worthwhile in that godforsaken estate.”

“If you marry, you’d have all that and the house.”

James snorted. “I won’t live in that shithole, nor will I have that rag-tag staff working for me. It’ll be bad enough dealing with the tenants. No, she’ll move _here_ , where I can run things _my_ way. Her title may outrank mine, but I won’t have a wife outrank her husband.”

John drained his whiskey, screwing up his face and abandoning the glass on a nearby end table. Lady Jacqueline had escaped Martha and was soliciting dance partners a few metres to his left. He strode over and swept her onto the dance floor himself. She chattered the whole time, heartfelt but inane compliments about how lovely he was. John spotted Rose, alone now, and steered Lady Jacqueline in that direction.

“We’re going home,” he announced.

Rose frowned, and Lady Jacqueline protested. “It’s not even close to midnight!”

“I don’t care. We’re leaving.” He took Rose’s hand, the other arm still around a stumbling Lady Jacqueline, and made to lead the women to the front door.

“What has gotten into you?” Rose hissed, snatching her hand away.

“Your mother, if you haven’t noticed, is extremely intoxicated, and neither of us wanted to come in the first place. Taking her home before she draws any more attention to herself is the perfect excuse. Let’s _go_.”

“ _You’re_ the one drawing attention,” Rose snapped, and John noticed a few stares and whispers. 

“ _Rose_. We need to go.”

Rose stared him down for a moment. “Fine,” she said. “You’re lucky I don’t actually want to be here.”

The car ride home was tense and awkward. Lady Jacqueline fell asleep on John’s shoulder as soon as they left the driveway. They rang for Donna as soon as they got in, and John carried her up to her bedroom.

***

Rose felt entirely more relieved than she expected once she got home. It was one of the most stressful evenings she’d had in a long time, and all she wanted was to take a book upstairs and read in bed before going to sleep. John was helping Donna put her mother to bed, Mr. Mott was locking up, and Rose took her time browsing through her father’s collection of novels. The house was quiet, the fire dying in the grate, so when the library doors closed the sound of the clasp echoed in the room and she spun around, heart racing.

“John! You scared me half to death,” she gasped, one hand on her heart. “I thought you’d have just gone to bed.”

He strode from the door to her side in a few large steps. “You can’t marry Sir James.”

“Excuse me?” She raised her eyebrows, moving back so she could study him better. John was still fuming, his expression hard, jaw set and eyes fiery. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, almost quivering with anger. She’d not seen him this worked up before, and crossed her arms in front of her out of instinct.

He leaned forward and grasped her upper arms, bringing their faces level. “You can’t marry him. I know you don’t really want to, but you think that you have to, but you can’t. It would be the worst mistake of your life.”

Rose took a deep breath and gently removed his hands from her. “John, you’ve crossed a lot of lines already tonight. I’m going to ask you to sit down and give you a chance to start over, and be very careful of what you say.” She gestured to a settee and took the armchair across from it, watching John take a seat and rub his eyes, sighing heavily. 

“Do you remember the woman Sir James brought to dinner a few months ago?”

“Lynda Moss,” Rose said. “I remember her mostly for how un-memorable she was. Very quiet.”

“You said to me it seemed like she was wearing an awful lot of makeup,” John continued, and Rose nodded. “She was covering bruises. Bruises that Sir James gave her.”

Rose felt her stomach churn, but tried not to let on. “How do you know this?”

“I saw him give them to her before, when I was in the City. I know Lynda, and I’ve never seen her like that before she met Sir James. She used to be bright and determined, and incredibly sweet. He’s a violent man, Rose, addicted to drugs and when he’s on them, he’s even more cruel.” John was leaning forward, arms resting on his knees, looking at Rose imploringly. “If you marry him, that’s what you’re signing up for.” 

Rose barely heard the last bit as she was still processing the first. “Wait, where were you in the City that you saw Sir James? And how do you know Lynda Moss?”

“The Versailles Club. She works there. Sir James hired her for that week, and I’m amazed he made it out of there, he was on so many different things-”

“The _Versailles_ Club?” Rose repeated. “He beat up a _prostitute_ and then brought her to dinner with my _parents_?” She felt like she might throw up, there were so many things going through her head. 

John wasn’t pleased with her tone, and shot back, “Well, technically you did too. Though you didn’t beat me up first and I haven’t worked there in a long time.”

Rose’s mouth hung open as she stopped her intended comeback when the meaning of what John said sunk in. “Wait- you-”

“I didn’t want for you to find out this way,” he said firmly, head snapping up so he could look Rose in the eyes. “I always meant to tell you, but I wanted to do it right. Then Sir James started coming around more often and I knew you were running out of time to make a decision, and I overheard him at the party tonight saying the most awful things about Bucknall and being so rude to everyone around him, that I couldn’t… I couldn’t keep quiet. If it had to come out so you’d understand, so be it. I had to make sure you knew what kind of man he is.”

He’d gone from angry to desperately pleading in the space of a few moments and Rose was still a bit speechless, running through everything he’d just told her. Something told her this was not what he wanted to talk about though, so she moved to sit next to him and took his hand.

“I’m sorry you had to tell me like this. I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you won’t marry him.”

“I have to think about it. It has to be somebody,” Rose whispered. 

“But don’t let it be anybody. You deserve better. You deserve the best.” Rose glanced at their interlaced fingers as John brushed her hair behind her ear. “Please, Rose. Please don’t do it.”

She could almost hear his heart breaking in his voice and closed her eyes tightly. They sat quietly for what felt like a long time, before she finally pulled away. “I need to go to bed.”

“Rose-”

“Good night, John. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Rose left him on the settee, twisted around to watch her go, and ran upstairs faster than she needed to, the grandfather clock in the Great Hall striking twelve behind her.

She forgot about the book. Even though she lay awake most of the night, she wouldn’t have been able to read much anyway.

***

“Oh Rose.”

It was a few days after the party. Rose was at Martha’s for tea, recapping New Year’s Eve and helping her friend with her trousseau. She’d just told her that Sir James had proposed again, and that she’d said she’d consider it.

“It’s a business proposition,” she said. “Nothing more. I need a husband so I can take control of the estate properly. Legally he’ll have no claim on it except through me. I checked.”

“ _Legally,_ yes. But do you really think he’d actually let you do everything yourself? Or _anything_? I’ve only met him a few times and _I_ know what he’s like.”

“I’m sure MIckey filled you in as well.”

“Of course he did, especially before we went to the party. But look, Rose, I know you’re desperate, and things with John are complicated, but you don’t have to decide _now_. You have _four_ years. Surely that’s enough time to work things out.”

Rose looked down at her needlework. Who knew a woman needed so many handkerchiefs when she got married? “John told me the rest of his past.”

Martha paused and studied her friend’s downcast face. “I get the feeling that it didn’t go well.”

“It came out during a fight about Sir James. It’s… I can understand why he didn’t want to talk about it.”

“I won’t ask you to tell me what it is,” Martha said, “but what did you say?”

“I didn’t really say anything. I was in a bit of shock, and I think he saw that as a negative reaction. But it wasn’t!” Rose said. “I was just surprised. I feel bad for him because of how much it upsets him, and that he’s been carrying it all this time. I couldn’t disapprove, he was doing what he needed to get by.”

“Does it change how you feel about marrying him?”

Rose shook her head. “Only in that I understand better what’s holding him back. He’s right, the scandal would be incredible. But otherwise, no. I still love him, and I still want him.”

“I do hope you’ve told him that.”

“We haven’t really spoken since the fight,” she admitted. 

“You ought to fix that then.

“I know.” 

“Is the situation he’s in… Can you two get past it? There’s only a scandal if people talk.”

“ _I_ think we can, but he’s never been convinced. Hopefully now that I know more I can come up with better ideas.”

Martha hummed in agreement. “If there’s anything I can do, let me know. I want your wedding to be next after mine. But not too soon, I don’t want to have to go through all this sewing again anytime soon!”

Rose laughed. “Deal.”

***

John was fixing Donna’s sewing machine, relatively sure she’d broken it on purpose just to get him to come see her.

“You’re sure you couldn’t manage this?” he asked. “Seems like a fairly easy fix.”

Donna waved him off. “I tried, but you know me. Clumsy fingers. Now, what’s this I hear about you and Lady Powell fighting again?”

John sighed, his friend’s ulterior motive revealed. “We’re having a rough go of things with this inheritance nonsense, and Mr. Hoskins taking us to court. It’s just stress. We’re fine.”

Donna fixed him with a hard stare, arms crossed. “Right.”

John knew that look. “ _Fine_. Sir James proposed to her again, and she said she’d consider it.”

“Oh John,” Donna sighed, face softening. “You know she’s in a tight spot. Or maybe she was just being polite.”

“No. No, she told me she actually needed to think about it,” he spat. “The things he was saying, about Bucknall, about everyone here… I’m angry, Donna. Not at her, but that she’s even in this position, and I can’t just marry her like I want to and get it all over with.”

Donna sat next to John and pulled him into a hug. “I’m sorry, Spaceman.”

“I told her the rest about before I moved here,” he said into her shoulder.

“About the Versailles?”

“Yeah. She didn’t - she barely said anything. I felt so foolish.

“It was probably quite a surprise for her,” Donna said gently. “That was a few days ago, you should see what she has to say, now that you’ve both had some time.”

“I suppose.”

“Get out of here, go talk to her. No time like the present.”

“But the machine-”

“I can fix it myself, you know that,” Donna smirked. “Go on. And don’t make me pretend to break something before you come by again.

***

Rose and John accepted each others’ apologies with a long hug. Arguments about business they could handle, but personal conflicts left them drained. It was very late, and but John had come to Rose’s bedroom anyway.

“I thought about waiting until morning, but I couldn’t sleep,” he admitted, lips brushing her hair. 

“It’s okay. You can always come talk to me, at any time.” Rose pulled back and stroked John’s cheek. “You know that, right?”

“I know. I’m sorry for not doing it earlier.”

She guided them over to her window seat and settled in. “First, I want you to know that none of what you’ve told me about your past makes me think any less of you,” she said. “I’m disappointed that you didn’t tell me before, and sad that you’ve felt you had to hide it all this time. It must have been difficult.”

“I thought you’d be upset if you knew,” he said.

Rose shook her head. “No. I still love you just as much. I was more angry about how you acted at the party, and the attitude you took talking about Sir James.”

John looked pained. “I really don’t think you should marry him, Rose.”

“I know. I don’t think I should, either,” she confessed. “I mostly told him I’d think about it to make him go away.”

“But there’s still a part of you that’s actually considering it.”

“John, I don’t have a lot of options, like I said,” she sighed. “I don’t have the luxury of flat-out refusing _anyone_ these days. But how did you even know he’d asked?”

“I overheard him talking to her date,” John said. “He mentioned it to her. Then he went on about how he wants the estate’s resources - I’m assuming I means the weed plant - and that he’d make you move into Peckham Hall and only use his own staff, specifically to keep you in your place.”

Rose grimaced. “And that’s on top of all the things you saw him do at the Versailles.”

John nodded. “I took a job there as a favour back in the summer, and saw him attack Lynda. It was a masquerade, and I was still in costume, so he didn’t recognise me when I intervened. I’m almost certain he was using some sort of narcotics on top of being drunk. Lynda was terrified.”

Rose took John’s hand. “It sounds like a risky place to work.”

“That’s the thing, it usually _isn’t_ ,” John said. “Reinette - she’s the manager - runs a tight ship. Everyone is paid and fed and housed pretty well. She’s got great security and doesn’t usually hesitate to kick people out.”

“But we saw Sir James out with Lynda a number of times.”

“He’s her main investor. The rules don’t apply. I called her on it, was ready to deal with him myself, but Reinette told me no. And I know Saxon’s another exception. Lucy, she also used to work at the Versailles until Saxon moved her into an apartment of her own. Both her and Lynda, they’ve changed. They used to be really bright, fun people, but now… I’ve never seen either of them look so sad.” 

“That’s awful.”

“Come to think of it, I’m a little surprised Saxon never did anything when he found out I worked there, just to mess with me,” John frowned.

“Must have been waiting for the opportune moment,” Rose mused. “How did you come to work there in the first place?”

“Dorium,” he said. “He sent me there on delivery a few times, then referred me to Reinette when she needed help dealing with some problematic blokes. She, ah, took a shine to me, as did some of her regulars. I’d gotten to know a bit about the place so I accepted her offer.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Honestly, it wasn’t bad. I didn’t really enjoy all of it, but it was a hell of a lot better than the work I’d been doing before. It was nice to be making people happy for a change, instead of… well. And, not to brag, but I _was_ pretty good at it.”

Rose laughed at his preening and John grinned. “You certainly are. So this is what Saxon is holding over you?”

“That and everything else I’ve done, yes.”

“Thank you for telling me, John. I know it must have been hard.”

“Thanks for not, you know, freaking out.”

Rose leaned over and kissed him gently. “You’re a good man, John. You deserve to do what you want with your life.”

“What I want right now,” John said, following as she leaned back, “is to take you to bed. How does that sound?”

She giggled at his breath tickling her ear. “You know where it is. Lead the way.”


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a little shorter than the past few chapters, but that’s how it’s gonna be. I thought about putting some smut in (you’ll probably be able to tell where) but writing it didn’t feel right. #StillNotSorry

Saxon had wanted John to respond to his ultimatum by New Year’s Day, but John was able to write and put him off a while longer, saying that he wanted to finalise a proposal for what he could do for the organisation. Saxon gave him another month, which surprised him. John did have ideas for research, which is what he presumed Saxon would want him to do; things that would add to Vitex’s success and therefore keep Saxon happy, while also minimising any potential interest in Bucknall. Of course it would depend on what kind of facilities Torchwood had, but they had money, surely Saxon would purchase anything John needed if he really wanted to keep him around…

John kicked himself. Rose would be upset if she knew he was already thinking like going to work for Saxon was a done deal. Still, part of him wondered if it might not be a bad idea, if they could weather it together and find a way for him to get out of the organization later. The other part retorted that it had been difficult enough to get out the first time, and that was _without_ working directly for Saxon. 

One thing at a time. First, they had to deal with Stuart, one of the reasons John had tried to delay Saxon in the first place. Mid-January, Strax drove Rose, John, and Lady Jacqueline to the nearby town of Henrik, where the region’s courthouse was located. They would be hearing Stuart’s first arguments about John soon, so they were meeting with the family’s lawyers to review their case. Pollard, Boyce, and Whitaker had office in Henrik, and they met there with solicitor Mark Whitaker. 

“As you’ll have seen in the documents I forwarded, Hoskins is basing his case on your ‘fitness’ for the position of trustee, Mr. Smith - or rather, your perceived _lack_ of fitness,” Whitaker began. “We received more detailed arguments from his attorneys just a few days ago - not without pulling a few teeth, mind, they seemed unwilling or unable to provide them in a timely fashion. He’s making some rather large accusations, I’m afraid.”

Whitaker shared the list of arguments to the incredulous trio. They ranged from outright false - theft, destruction of property, disloyalty - to matters of opinion - that under John’s guidance as agent, Bucknall House was shadow of its former, glorious self.

Lady Jacqueline snorted at that. “He’s just mad that everything isn’t exactly the same as it was in his childhood,” she said. “And theft? Really?”

“I don’t think we ever owned any of the things he says were stolen,” Rose added. “And a quick look at your bank account and the books will show that the money’s still there.”

“Any accountant can take a look and see that,” John said.

“Most of it’s rather vague,” Whitaker admitted. “But then he’s also saying that you don’t have the experience to run an estate.”

“Oh, and _he_ does?” Lady Jacqueline said. “Honestly, that man…”

“I think the past year or so would demonstrate otherwise,” Rose said gently, glancing reassuringly at John.

Once they’d gotten past Lady Jacqueline’s continued outrage, they were able to work up rebuttals and provide plenty of other evidence and witnesses opposing Stuart’s claims. Whitaker’s plan was to ultimately have the suit declared frivolous and thrown out, ideally without having to call anyone else in. 

They went before the judge the next week, and he sided with Whitaker, declaring that in the absence of any legitimate claims or substantial evidence, it was merely a disagreement to be addressed within the family. He ordered Stuart to pay court costs, and strongly discouraged him from appealing unless he had anything new and truly compelling. Even Stuart’s own solicitor seemed relieved to be done with his client, following behind sedately as Stuart stomped out without a second glance at his niece or sister-in-law. That bullet dodged, Rose, John, and Lady Jacqueline celebrated with lunch at a fancy restaurant in Henrik before driving back to Bucknall.

***

Winter wore on interminably. The anniversary of John’s employment at the House completely passed him by, except for a hug from Donna. Lady Jacqueline’s birthday on the first of February was celebrated with a small dinner of family and a few close friends, including a decadent cake of Amelia’s creation. Rose caught John in the kitchen sneaking leftovers of it the next night.

“And what are _you_ doing down here at this hour?” he mumbled around a mouthful of chocolate.

“Getting cake, of course,” she said, kissing an errant smear of icing off the corner of John’s mouth. She settled down across the kitchen table with her own slice and a glass of milk.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

“No,” she admitted. “Dad used to come down here for midnight snacks all the time. He thought it was a secret, but we all knew.”

“I met him down here once while he was doing that,” John remembered. “I was cleaning the drain. Told him about some of the things I thought needed fixing, then he kept me up all night talking about it.”

Rose chuckled softly. “Sounds like Dad. Bet he forgot about his snack, too.”

“No, he made me cook for him!” John said indignantly. “I made us omelettes. And then I got promoted, and the rest is history.”

“To midnight snacks, then,” Rose said, and they toasted with forkfuls of cake. 

John scraped the last lingering crumbs off his plate and groaned. “This stuff is too good. Amelia needs to open up her own cake shop and get out of here before we all rot our teeth.”

“She’s looking for an apprenticeship, actually,” Rose said. “She came asking me for a reference letter the other day.”

“That’s fantastic. You know if she leaves, Rory will go too.”

“What?”

“He’s been sweet on her for ages, only got up the nerve to do anything about it last year,” John said. “Wouldn’t be surprised if he followed wherever she goes.”

“Speaking of sweet, and I don’t mean the cake,” Rose said, “the village council is having a dance for Valentine’s Day. I was on the committee but stepped down when… well, when Dad died, but I figure I ought to still make an appearance, show my support, at least.”

“Ah. Perhaps.”

“I was _hoping_ you’d be my Valentine and escort me,” she said, jabbing him in the ribs as she brought their dishes to the sink. 

John jumped and squirmed. “Well, obviously,” he said, once he’d recovered. “It’s just that…”

Rose frowned. “What?”

“You know I was able to buy some time with Saxon,” he said. “It’s running out. I wrote to ask again, but… I’m just worried we won’t make it until then.”

Rose slipped her arms around John’s shoulders from behind and pressed her lips to his neck. “I know. Let’s talk about it some more in the morning.” She pulled him up from his chair and led him back upstairs to bed.

***

John got his reply from Saxon the next day. The large packet of documents that arrived in the morning post was not, as John thought, the prospectus from Kate Lethbridge-Stewart’s cousin’s farm equipment company, but a formal outline of John’s employment with Dorium Maldovar and the Versailles Club. It contained statements attributed to Dorium, Reinette, River Song, several police officers, and Respected Businessman Harold Saxon affirming John’s employment as a drug runner, enforcer, and sex worker. On a sheet of crisp, off-white stationery, written in Saxon’s hand was a warning: make a deal by February the fourteenth, or copies of these documents would make their way to Stuart Hoskins and his lawyers.

John slumped back in his chair, leaned his head back and traced the lines of engraving in the ceiling as he tried to even out his breathing. Thankfully Rose was out visiting Martha. He pulled a clean sheet of paper onto his desk, found a pen among the clutter, and began to write.

***

The Valentine’s dance was a lovely little affair, with the village hall done up in pink, red, and white, a small band playing, and a long table of refreshments. Rose rather wished her mourning period was over, feeling out of place in black among the happier colours everyone else wore. A few of the old biddies raised eyebrows at the pink corsage that John had bought for her, but she ignored them.

“You know we’re not staying long, right?” she said as John tied the ribbon around her wrist. “Most of the staff are here, I don’t want to make them uncomfortable…”

He shrugged, smiling shyly, still looking at her hand. “You’re my Valentine. I want to do this properly.” He’d said something similar that morning when he brought flowers to her at breakfast, and again when he took her up to the West Tower for an indoor picnic lunch. She’d protested, saying she didn’t need all this, that she just didn’t want to go to the village dance alone, but it was no use. John had even gotten flowers for her mother. It was all terribly sweet. 

They drank some punch and chatted with a few people, Rose making sure they had everything they needed, even though she was just supposed to be a guest. It was instinct, really, though clearly the committee was fine and the event was going well. She recognised most of the guests and was glad to see them happy - Gwen dancing with Rhys the grocer, Amelia at the sweets table with Rory. Donna was alone by the punch bowl, and Rose sidled up to her. 

“Doing okay?”

“Oh, yes, your ladyship.”

“Just Rose tonight, please,” she said. “Did Mr. Bennett come tonight?”

Donna barked out a laugh. “No. I called off the engagement.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be. When I postponed the wedding he got more and more distant, and then kept making all these rude comments about Bucknall…” Donna shook her head. “He wasn’t worth it. Never was, really. I’m better off, really.”

“Good. I’m glad you’re happy.”

She grinned. “It’s a big weight off my shoulders. And you and John?”

“ _We’re_ fine, it’s everything else that’s awful,” Rose laughed. “I don’t know how much John has told you…”

“Enough,” she said. “It’s eating him up, really.” 

“It’s hard to stay positive after this long. Nights like this… they’re a nice break.”

“You know, I thought he was happier than I’d ever seen him when he started working here, but then he met you. He loves you so much,” Donna told her. Rose blushed and studied the bottom of her empty glass. “And I think he’d like you to dance.”

Rose looked up and saw John approaching, smiling gently. He extended a hand to her and Rose set her glass aside, accepting and following him to the floor. They stayed out there for a few songs, slow and fast, spinning around and switching partners occasionally. John was even roped in by Minnie Hooper, and he swore she pinched his bum at one point. They ended up staying much longer than Rose had planned, only because they were having so much fun and some of the guests pleaded with them to stay.

Still, the evening wound down, and so did they. John curled their joined hands to his chest and held her close, and Rose rested her head over his heart as they swayed to the slow music and the singer’s crooning. He leaned down and quietly asked if she wanted to go home, and she nodded, feeling the fabric of his waistcoat rub against her cheek. They made few goodbyes, slipping out the door mostly unnoticed. John drove them home, and Rose took him upstairs and straight to her room.

***

John not being in her bed when she woke up was not something Rose was unused to - while he often snuck to her bedroom after everyone else was asleep, Rose knew from the routine they’d established in the City that he rose early and let her sleep in. On such nights they usually just slept, but last night they’d made love, slowly and quietly, Rose leaving marks on John’s shoulder as she stifled her cries. He’d held her tightly as she fell asleep, almost to the point of discomfort, but Rose hadn’t minded. She’d noticed him seeming more needy in bed since they’d come back from the City, always wanting their bodies to be pressed against each other, watching her intently, his moans sounding more like desperate whimpers. If this was how he was able to get those feelings out, she would help.

His empty chair at the breakfast table was a little more unusual. He was usually the first one there, and waited for everyone else even if he was finished eating, though sometimes he had a lot of work to get to and left early. But the food hardly looked like it’d been touched, and there were still four place settings left intact on the table. Perhaps he’d had an emergency to tend to. Rose had breakfast with her mother and brother, waving off John’s absence, and headed to her study. 

He wasn’t in the study, either, and his desk looked remarkably organised. Frowning, Rose sat down at her own desk, and that’s when she saw the two envelopes, one with her name on it in John’s writing, the careful, elegant script he used when he wrote out things that were really important. 

_Rose,_

_Saxon is not giving me any more time. It’s him or the documents in that envelope go to Stuart. I had to do something._

_I’m so sorry, but leaving is the only thing I can think of to keep you and your family safe. I hope that one day you’ll be able to forgive me._

_I love you. I love you, I love you._

_John_

Rose let the letter fall to the floor and her head to her hands.


	33. Chapter 33

The day John left, Rose received a phone call just before luncheon.

“Vastra?”

“I think John’s gone to Saxon.”

Rose ignored the lack of greeting. “I know he has. How do _you_ know?”

“He just left a note and a suitcase of things for safekeeping on our doorstep. Didn’t even ring the bell. Did he tell you where he’s gone?”

“No, he just left me a letter saying he was gone,” Rose said. “Saxon was ready to release information on him. He… he had to.”

Vastra cursed. “When will that man get it through his thick head that he’s got all sorts of people who can help him?”

“He wants to protect us,” Rose sighed, “never mind that we don’t want _him_ to get hurt either. Did you find out Saxon’s holdings yet?”

“We’ve been working on it, but so far every lead turns up an empty building or another subsidiary he’s hiding under,” Vastra said. Rose could picture her pinching the bridge of her nose in exasperation. “I’ve got all my best people on it, it’s more a matter of time than difficulty. There’s just a lot to sort through. We’ll find him out eventually.”

Rose didn’t like ‘eventually.’ “I’m coming to help.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“To hell with _necessary_! I can’t just stay out here and do nothing!”

“Rose, you have an estate to run. John wouldn’t want you leaving it for some wild goose chase.”

“Didn’t we _just_ establish that what John wants isn’t always for the best? I’ll figure something out and call you when I’m leaving.”

There was a long silence at the other end of the line. “All right. But you _have_ to listen to Jenny and I, follow our directions. You’re not going anywhere dangerous.”

“Fine,” Rose said. “I’ll let you get back to it, and see if John left anything else here that might help.”

They made their farewells, and as soon as Vastra hung up, Rose went back to her study, going through what John had left her again. In her shock she’d missed a number of other documents - letters for her mother and Anthony, no doubt making his explanations to them; instructions relating to a number of projects and people around the estate; and a notarised letter formally relinquishing his share of the trusteeship to Lady Jacqueline. 

Whatever tears Rose had shed earlier were equalled in the rage that boiled over now. How long had he been planning this, keeping this card up his sleeve without telling her? They were supposed to be a team, and make decisions together. She’d told him over and over again that she would stay by his side, no matter what. She resisted the urge to shred everything with his writing on it, instead grabbing the first heavy object she could reach and hurling it across the room with a shout. It was a paperweight, a chunk of solid glass with some sort of blue and red and yellow flakes suspended in it, and it hit the side of John’s desk and split into a few large pieces. She was almost disappointed it hadn’t shattered completely.

Her mother flew in, bless her and her inability to knock. Rose had no desire to get up from where she’d collapsed, sobbing and barely coherent, and Lady Jacqueline crouched next to her daughter, enfolding Rose in her arms and making soothing sounds. 

“I was going to ask if you knew where himself has gotten to, but I take it you do,” she said once Rose had calmed down. 

Rose reached up and fumbled on the desk until she found the letter he’d addressed to Lady Jacqueline. “This is for you.”

Lady Jacqueline didn’t open it right away. “What did he say to you?”

“That he’s left for our own safety,” Rose said. “Someone from his past has been causing him trouble. We’ve been trying to work it out but just… ran out of time.” 

Giving Rose a hard look, Lady Jacqueline looked over her letter from John. “He’s leaving me completely in charge?!”

“You still don’t have to do more than you’re comfortable with, Mum, I’ll do the work, you’ll just have to sign things more often,” Rose explained. 

“We need to tell Tony. He’s already asking.”

“I’ll talk to him later. I need to take care of a few things first.”

***

He’d taken the old truck. Strax told Rose this as he drove her to Mickey’s shop. Mickey was still in his office, and very excited to see Rose. “To what do I owe the pleasure? I’m afraid I’m still rather disorganised in here, Martha and I were meeting with the vicar this morning.”

“You’re still on for May?”

“Yes! I don’t know if Martha told you, but we’ve been arguing over which one of us gets to have you stand up for our side.”

“Oh Mickey! We’ll have to find a way for me to stand in the middle so I can be there for both of you at once,” she laughed.

“I was actually thinking I’d let her have you, and ask John to be my best man,” Mickey said. “Do you think he’d accept?”

“I think he would,” Rose said, this time forcing herself to sound happy. “That’s actually why I’m here. John… he’s missing.”

“Missing? What, like he’s gotten lost or something?”

“He’s left, and I don’t know where he is,” Rose said, suddenly fighting back tears. Mickey rounded his desk and took Rose into his arms as she tried to compose herself. 

“Tell me everything.”

Rose spilled out the whole story - how she and John fell in love, how he had a past he couldn’t escape, how his childhood friend was blackmailing him. She left out the sensitive details, but Mickey understood - John had gone to Saxon, feeling that it was the only way to keep Rose and her home safe. 

“How can I help?”

“I need you to keep an eye on Mum and the House while I go look for him,” Rose said. “He’s got friends in the City who have already started a search, I’m going to go help them. He’s surrendered his trusteeship to Mum, but she’s barely got a grasp on it. Just help her out. Please?”

“Of course I will,” Mickey said, hugging her tightly. “And if there’s anything else I can do…”

Rose shook her head. “Just look after her. I’ll tell her you’ll be around, and let you know how to reach me in case anything happens.”

“All right. And you let me know how things are going.”

“I will. Thank you, Mickey.”

“You go do what you need to do,” he said. “I want you back in one piece.”

***

John had driven all through the small hours of the morning, making his delivery to Jenny and Vastra before breakfast, then ditching the truck near the Tyler family townhouse and sliding the keys through their mail slot. He stumbled away from their neighbourhood to a run-down inn whose proprietor remembered him from his early days in the City and let him buy a meal and fall asleep upstairs without being bothered. John awoke after dark and slipped out past the noisy bar crowd, willing his stomach to settle. He didn’t really know where Saxon was headquartered, but was able to track him down him to the Valiant, an exclusive lounge with a burly security guard at the door. He charmed his way around the request for a password and pushed through a heavy set of drapes from the foyer to the main room.

Instantly he was assaulted by a haze of smoke, a mixture of tobacco and opium and a few other things John recognised but didn’t know the names of. The lights were covered with frosted glass or dark green shades, bouncing through the smoke the cast an eerie glow. Patrons lounged on couches, sat at low tables, or secreted themselves away in high-backed, curving booths. John shut out the music and murmurs, laughter and moans, scanning for the most likely place to find Saxon.

He caught a glimpse of a familiar blonde slipping through a gauzy curtain that shielded a booth near the back. Sidling past a group of raucous men at the bar, John followed, ignoring any calls in his direction. Outside the curtain he could hear the occupants’ voices - that had definitely been Lucy, and Saxon was with her. John took a moment to steel himself, then pushed the curtain aside. 

“Well if it isn’t John Smith! What a pleasant surprise!” Saxon was sprawled on the plush bench, his usual smirk in place. His shirt was unbuttoned and hanging loose, and Lucy curled into his side. At John’s appearance she tried to pull back to a more modest position, but Saxon held her in place with a rough grip on her shoulder. “Come to join us? Oh, Lucy won’t mind if you and I re-live old times for a bit - unless you’d like her to join in too, I know your penchant for blondes-”

“I came to surrender,” John interrupted, his stomach and fists clenching. “I’ll work for you, you leave Rose and Bucknall alone.”

Saxon laughed. “So dramatic. But I’m so glad you’ve come to your senses. Sit down, we’ll have a drink to celebrate. I’ve had them make cocktails with Vitex in, they’re quite the treat.”

“Just tell me where to be tomorrow,” John said. “I’ll meet you there.”

“You don’t want to stay and play? I’m hurt, John. But very well. The man at the door is one of mine. Tell him I want you brought to the Toclafane. He’ll make sure you get there. Oh, and John,” he called as John made to leave, “welcome to the team.”

***

Jenny brought Rose up to the same room she’d stayed in last time and told her to meet them in the dining room. There, the table had been transformed into the investigators’ command centre, strewn with papers and surrounded by maps and charts on the walls, and a few people Rose didn’t know. Jenny introduced them as some of their informants, and Rose didn’t press for names. Vastra was at the head of the table, working on a collage of documents that Rose found incomprehensible. She handed her the notes from John and a few things she’d found in his desk and his bedroom.

“This one’s from Saxon,” she said. “He doesn’t give a return address, just says what post office to send replies to.”

Vastra scanned the contents and called the name of the post office out to one of the staff. He marked the location with a pin on a map and rushed over to the phone, which had been moved to the corner of the dining room, its cord trailing into the hall.

“Jenny, get Rose started with those directories, then call for some tea. We’re going to need it.”

Rose was set up with a list of known aliases and companies associated with Saxon, and compilations of business listings to cross-reference. They were attempting to locate as many of Saxon’s properties as possible, using other evidence to narrow them down to the possible locations that John might be in. Rose would hand off her findings to the boy at the map, who would pin them and pass them to another researcher. Phone calls were made to the team on the street, who would scope out the locations and report back. Calls came in with dead end after dead and - the building was torn down, or it didn’t exist - and more work - the business had changed, but there was no reason it couldn’t still be Saxon, so they had to look it up again. It was late when she’d started, and well past midnight when Vastra dismissed everyone for some much-needed rest.

***

Toclafane was a large warehouse near the docks. Bland enough outside to blend right in with all the other buildings around it, inside it was full of ultra-modern equipment, including a state-of-the-art manufacturing section, and the most complete lab John had ever seen.

Still, those were from brief glimpses through a few windows. John was being escorted by another one of Saxon’s nameless burly men through the warehouse and over to an attached living quarters, probably for management at one point. The wing was empty, with sheets draping all the furniture and all the shutters closed. He was taken to the back of the building and shown down a flight of stairs. Once John had found the chain to turn on a naked bulb dangling from the ceiling, the door at the top of the stairs slammed and clicked. 

He didn’t bother to run back up and check the door; he knew he’d been locked in. Instead, he inspected his new room. The basement had been finished, at least, and there was a rug covering most of the floor. A single bed was neatly made and pushed into a corner, with a lamp on the bedside table beside it. Wardrobe, desk, chair. Aside from the bars on the tiny windows up near the ceiling, John had to admit it wasn’t the worst accommodation he’d had. It felt sterile, maybe a little musty, but that was it. The bed, he noticed as he flopped onto it, was even kind of comfortable. He supposed Saxon still liked him enough not to throw him in a cellar. Or maybe he just wanted to keep his new hire content to get the work out of him.

As adequate as it was, it wasn’t home. John kicked off his shoes and shucked his jacket, curling on his side, facing the wall. It wasn’t his own bed. Rose’s room wasn’t right down the hall, waiting for him to sneak into it. He wasn’t kissing Rose goodnight, and he wouldn’t be goofing off with Anthony at breakfast in the morning, and Lady Jacqueline wouldn’t chide them for it while Rose tried not to giggle. 

He hoped they understood. He hadn’t _wanted_ to leave, especially not in the dead of night like he had, but if he’d tried talking about it they wouldn’t have let him go. He needed to keep them safe. They were his family, and his home. But for now…

John sniffed and rubbed his eyes, suddenly noticing that tears had gathered. He took a shuddering breath and climbed under the covers, clutching the pillow and trying not to forget how Rose felt in his arms.

***

Rose came downstairs early the next day - she hadn’t been able to sleep well anyway - and continued the work over breakfast. It was mind-numbingly tedious, and she felt herself itching to hit the street on her own.

Around lunchtime, she had a thought, and pitched it to Vastra and Jenny. “Have we tried the Versailles?”

“Several times,” Jenny said. “He’s not there.”

“But has anyone talked to Reinette Poisson directly?”

“We’re fairly sure she’s in Saxon’s pocket,” Vastra said. “It wouldn’t do to tip him off.”

Rose frowned. “Let _me_ go talk to her. We’ve met before,” she added at the detectives’ looks of surprise. “I got the impression that she cares for John. He - he used to work for her. Saxon might be involved in her business, but I don’t think she’d sell us out.”

“She has her testimony in the documents Saxon sent John,” Jenny said.

“So did River, but the two of you were convinced the statement was falsified,” Rose retorted. “I don’t think she wants to be beholden to Saxon any more than John does.”

Jenny and Vastra exchanged looks, some silent communication that only came from years of closeness.

“Please,” Rose said. “If nothing else she could help keep his past hidden. I think I should talk to her.”

After a moment of thought, Vastra acquiesced. “River goes with you. She’s a good friend of Reinette, and our usual contact at the Versailles. She’ll get you in."

River was called, and arrangements were made for her to meet Rose at Jenny and Vastra’s the day after next. Then they would go to the Versailles together.


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose makes a deal. John gets to work.

Saxon had drawn out showing John around the facility with his usual bluster, bragging about features and production volumes and profit margins. The staff seemed to be the usual assortment of unfortunates one might find in a factory, all keeping their heads down as John and Saxon passed. 

The lab, however, was gleaming and deserted. Sunlight streamed through the (barred) windows and flinted off every surface and machine. A small greenhouse on one table was home to several specimens of _H. vitae_ , and a shelf held a collection of Torchwood products past and present, with Vitex front and centre. 

John was could hear Saxon talking about the space and trying to sound impressive. He didn’t need the commentary, he was already impressed. Saxon said everything he could possibly need was in this room or its storage cupboards, and laid out a few of the ideas he wanted John to work on. The requests were surprisingly reasonable, and aligned with John’s own proposal: find a way to extract more of the plant’s essential oils, improve the formula’s taste, develop a more efficient production process. John’s chemistry was rusty but the bookshelf in the room had some useful titles. He could do those things, and probably make the machines on the factory floor run better too. Saxon seemed pleased, and left John alone in the lab, locking the door behind him. 

“So that’s how it’s going to work,” John sighed to himself. Shaking his head, he went about familiarising himself with his new workspace.

If it weren’t for the circumstances, John might have actually enjoyed his tasks. It was a big change of pace, presented some interesting problems, and there was a lot of very modern, _very_ expensive equipment for him to play with. He could easily picture himself ending up in this kind of research position, had his life gone differently. 

He could also imagine Koschei as a successful businessman in another life, one who made his way to the top legitimately, rather than through intimidation and scheming. Before the accident, before everything fell apart, Theta and Koschei were troublemakers to be sure, but brilliant ones, clever students who got away with a lot simply because those in charge were too baffled by how they managed to pull off their increasingly elaborate stunts. They were good students, and most of their pranks were light-hearted and didn’t cause much harm or damage. But after their parents died, Koschei took a darker turn, one that John didn’t really like. Still, for a long time he found it difficult to stay away from his best friend.

John shook himself. It would do no good to drift off into the past and what could have been. He wandered over to the little greenhouse and started examining the plants.

***

Rose stood in an opulent foyer and tried not to look nervous. It was difficult, given the situation, the company, and the location. She never thought she’d ever have cause to talk to Reinette Poisson again, or set foot inside the Versailles, nor that she’d be there with River Song.

The other woman seemed perfectly at ease in the richly decorated room, as if she’d been deliberately placed among the deep red fabrics and gleaming mahogany by an interior decorator. It was nearly a week from when Rose had decided they needed to speak with her. Evidently Reinette was a very busy woman, but now they were waiting for a footman to inform Reinette of their arrival. Rose wondered if the way River had purred their names to the footman meant something. Soon enough he was back, and escorted them upstairs to Reinette’s suite. 

Anyone else of Reinette’s slight stature would have been dwarfed by her furniture, but Reinette projected so much authority that her desk seemed like an extension of herself and her ownership. Rose mustered her courage. She was every bit as intelligent and tough as the other women, even if she hadn’t built a business from the ground up, or done… whatever it was River did. She had business here. It was time to get to it.

Reinette welcomed them warmly, offering tea and inviting them to sit. Once their refreshments arrived, she became blunt. “John isn’t here, if that’s what you want.”

“I didn’t think he would be. I came to speak to you _about_ him, Miss Poisson.”

“Well, I didn’t think you wanted to become a member,” she sniffed. “Talk to me.”

“I need to know that John’s past employment here won’t become public knowledge.” 

“I generally don’t make a habit of disclosing that sort of information.”

“You went on the record about it.” Rose handed over the copy of the statement John had left behind. 

Reinette read it over and raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t say any of this.”

“I didn’t really think you did,” Rose admitted. “He misquotes River as well. It’s your clients we’re worried about.” 

“All patrons of the Versailles are required to sign a confidentiality agreement when they become members. The consequences for breaking it are severe, and delivered swiftly. John should know that, he was often their courier.”

Rose suppressed a shudder and pressed on. “And do these consequences apply equally to every member?”

“Of course.”

“Even Harold Saxon and James Stone?”

Reinette’s face remained still, and she leaned forward over her paperwork. “Unfortunately, that is where it gets complicated.”

“Enlighten me.”

“Saxon owns this building. Stone provides much of my operating costs, not to mention being one of my most regular clients. Saxon was too, until he took Lucy. Both of them refer new clients constantly. With that much money coming in, they expect certain… privileges.”

“Like being able to beat and kidnap girls with impunity,” River added, a sour look on her face.

Reinette glared at her. “Lucy left of her own volition.”

“I’m sure her life being threatened if she didn’t go wasn’t motivation at _all_.” 

The mask faltered slightly, and Rose hesitated briefly at the standoff. “He wrote that, you know,” she said, gesturing at the paper. “Made up a statement for River, too, probably a few more. He’s ready to make them public. If that happens, you’d be called on to confirm it.”

“You want me to lie.”

“I want you to follow your own confidentiality policy.”

“That doesn’t apply to legal investigations.”

“The only trial will be in the court of public opinion,” River said. “Saxon has nothing without you backing it up. Anyone else will have the others as an example.”

Reinette sighed. “I _need_ them to keep the Versailles afloat. My staff like working here because I run a tight ship and pay them well. Everyone has good living quarters, they’re well-fed, I bring in a doctor on a regular basis. I can’t afford that without the money from Stone and Saxon.” 

Rose stared at her teacup, nearly empty now. She felt for Reinette - she was a businesswoman in a tight spot, much like herself. “What if you didn’t?”

“Didn’t what?”

“Need Saxon, or Stone, or their money,” Rose said. “Then what?”

“It’d be a huge burden lifted from me, not having all the strings that are attached to them,” she answered. “I would send them away, and tell all the other madams in the country to blacklist them. The staff would be thrilled. But unless I raise rates, or cut wages…”

“Let’s say you got a sizable donation through, perhaps, the Copper Foundation. Could you cut them off then?”

“Hah!” Reinette laughed. “Those do-gooders want to take my staff from their work, see me close down.”

“They want to _help_ them live better lives. I’d say covering some of your housing, board, and medical expenses would certainly count,” Rose said. “And if the donor specifies what the funds are to be used for, that’s what they would be spent on.”

“As if any of them would fund a brothel. That’s not their idea of _charity_.”

“It’s mine,” Rose said. “And I’m a member of the Foundation.”

Reinette looked stunned. “You’d do that for me?”

“I’d do that for _John_ ,” Rose corrected. “Saxon has threatened to expose John if he doesn’t work for him, and John’s actually agreed to it in order to keep him quiet. Stone and the others who supposedly made these statements, they do whatever Saxon tells him. We need them off our backs so we can… so we can get on with our lives the way we want. If they don’t have a hold over you, or your business, they have nothing but hearsay.”

“ _And_ they’ll face the consequences of breaking the contract,” River finished, suddenly looking gleeful. “Check your lists, I’m sure most of them are members here too.”

“That’s the operations, but it doesn’t help with the house,” Reinette said. 

“I’ll buy you one,” River said. “Oh, don’t start. I have the money, and you know I won’t make requests like _they_ do. Just let me have first pick when I’m around, okay?”

Rose was a little surprised at the about-face, having sensed some animosity between the other women earlier. But Reinette laughed. “It’s a deal. Our Mr. Smith made an impression on you, didn’t he?”

River shrugged and smirked. “Sure he did, but Saxon made a bigger one, and it wasn’t good. I want to see him fall from as high as he possibly can.”

“Well, I’m not planning on going _that_ far…” Rose said.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetie,” River replied. “That’s my own agenda. Yours just happens to help mine along. That and I like you.”

Rose felt herself blush, which startled her. “So, Miss Poisson. What do you say?”

She grinned. “I say we have an agreement.” She and Rose shook on it. “I also know where you might find John.”

***

Address in hand, Rose wanted to go straight there, but River shook her head.

“Let’s see what Jenny and Vastra know about this place,” she said. “We don’t want to wander in without knowing what we’re up against.”

Rose sighed as she sat back in her seat and their driver set off. River was right, and Saxon needed John too much to really hurt him, so they had some time. 

As it turned out, they knew very little about the location in question, so scouts were sent out to investigate. They returned after dinner with a report: it was a posh townhouse in the same neighbourhood as the Versailles, and both Saxon and Lucy were seen entering that day.

“That’s his home, then?” Rose asked.

“Seems like it,” Jenny said. “A number of servants were seen around the place as well.”

“I don’t think John would be there,” River said. Saxon’s probably keeping him close to his work, not at home.”

“Though he could torment John better at home,” Rose argued. “And he _loves_ to do that.”

“Either way, I don’t think it’s a dead end,” Vastra said. “Who knows when we’ll need to pay Mr. Saxon a visit?”

“We’ve got eyes on him now, anyway,” Jenny added. “He won’t make a move without us knowing it. I’m willing to bet he won’t leave John alone for very long - we could follow him right to where we need to be. 

It was a matter of waiting, watching, and finding patterns. Rose was beginning to understand why John found being patient so difficult.

***

Days passed. Weeks. John grew more specimens of _H. vitae_ , testing out fertilizers and growing conditions, even trying out some grafting and cross-breeding. Figuring out a new extraction method for the plant oils was easy, getting it to taste better less so, and warding off his new boss, the most difficult.

During the day, Saxon left John alone, stopping by occasionally to see how things were going and then disappearing to whatever swanky office he kept, far from the grit of the manufacturing complex. He delegated much of the immediate supervision to a snarky, babyfaced minion named Luke Rattigan, who had evidently designed much of the technology and machinery in the factory. John wasn’t sure if Luke’s attitude towards him came from himself or as directions from Saxon, but it was exhausting to deal with. Luke was some sort of child prodigy whose rich parents had sent him to all the best schools, and his inventions were rather brilliant, but the attitude made John want to throw him out a window. He took solace in the fact that because the kid had spent all his time in books and labs, he could devise ways of insulting him that go straight over his head.

Most evenings, John had to himself. He was brought an ordinary dinner in his basement room, after which he would read or write letters to Rose. The burly man who brought him food and let him in and out of the room took the letters and gave vague answers about going to the post office, so John wasn’t entirely sure the messages were going out, but even the act of writing about his days and asking after hers was comforting.

He needed that, especially after the nights Saxon decided to take him out. 

The burly man stomped downstairs after John had eaten and thrust some ridiculously expensive clothes at him. “Get dressed. Mr. Saxon wants you to accompany him this evening.”

John raised an eyebrow and accepted the suit before the burly man (who refused to give his name, despite John’s wheedling for it) just dropped it. “Oh? And where might we be going?”

The burly man just leaned against the door and crossed his arms. “Out.”

He made no sign of moving. With a sigh, John got changed and followed the burly man out to a waiting automobile. Saxon was in the back, and the driver took them to one club or another - the Valiant, Platform One, Sanctuary Base Six. John could never keep track of which was which. The Versailles was, for some reason, deliberately avoided. 

John only sipped at the drinks Saxon pushed in his direction. He very much did not want to get the least bit intoxicated at places like this - Bowie One tonight, what was with all the numbers in the names of these clubs? He didn’t know if Lucy didn’t want to go out, or if Saxon was trying to mix it up, but he was clearly there as arm candy and not much else. They were on a plush couch in a private room that was dark and hazy in that pseudo-mysterious way that Saxon favoured, surrounded by a half-dozen of Saxon’s associates. John hesitated to call them friends; they all seemed more ambitious than amiable, hangers-on looking for a piece of the pie. Someone had started an irritating habit of calling Saxon ‘the Master,’ referring to his domination of his industry and workforce, and now it had stuck. 

Joshua Naismith didn’t take to the nickname, at least. “Saxon, how nice to see you. And John Smith, isn’t it? From Bucknall?”

“The one and only,” John said wryly, shaking Naismith’s hand. 

“Heard there’s a bit of trouble out there,” Naismith said, and John tried not to look alarmed. “Word is Lady Powell’s in the City, and she’s left the estate in the care of some mechanic. Weren’t you supposed to be in charge?”

John swallowed hard. “I’ve been helping out my old friend Harold for a bit. I’m sure Lady Powell’s absence is only temporary, probably just attending to some business.” 

“Business in rather odd places, it seems. She’s been seen with that strange woman in the East End, the one with the skin disorder that’s always nosing about? She ought to be careful, that woman’s nothing but trouble.”

The hair on the back of John’s neck stood on end. That had to be Vastra. Which meant Rose was _looking_ for him. He should have known Rose wouldn’t stay out in the country and let life go on. “Lady Powell’s a smart woman. She can take care of herself.”

Naismith’s attention jumped to a few other people, making introductions and catching up, chatting with Saxon and the others. The men paid little attention to John and the other escorts around them, but Saxon still managed to make John uncomfortable. He would rest his arm along the couch behind John’s shoulders, or his hand on John’s leg; lean across John’s lap to inhale some powdery substance off a gleaming tray; send sly looks out of the corner of his eye.

There was part of him that knew it was Saxon being manipulative, reminding John just how much of his life he couldn’t control. This wasn’t about rekindling old relationships, or John wouldn’t be locked in a lab or a basement. There was no genuine interest in John, or who he’d become in the years they’d been apart. If anything stayed the same, it was that Saxon was unpredictable, his motives obscure until the last moment. 

The other part, though, felt a twisted sort of nostalgia, born out of sadness at what his friend had turned into, and thinking about it made John want to down every drink on the table just to get it out of his mind. That part was full of memories of being fifteen years old, when Koschei would do very similar things, and Theta Sigma felt very, very differently about it.


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for my absence! I started a new job and just did not have time to write. But I made myself sit down and hammer this out the other day - here you go!

The first test batch of the new Vitex formula went out on the line as the first bits of slush melted and ran into the City’s gutters. John had put together a more concentrated version of the essential oils, but this would be the first time it would be mixed with the non-active ingredients that made up the final tonic. 

Of course one of the machines broke down right as they were starting, and John was called out of the lab to fix it. He’d taken to wandering the factory floor while waiting for experiments to run, or just to get out of the lab for a moment, and had made improvements to almost all of the machines. This one, which affixed labels to the fronts and backs of each bottle, was operated by a small group of women, who loaded rolls of printed labels and mixed glue to fill a dispenser, and inspected the bottles that came off the line for misalignments and sloppy adhesive. Four of the new formula had ended up with the little squares of paper stuck at the wrong angle, and two of them had rattled over the guardrail and smashed to the floor, before the workers stopped the machine and rang for assistance. 

Rattigan had brought John down to the line and now watched in annoyance, arms crossed and foot tapping, as John lay on his back on a rolling board beneath the machine. The women from the labelling station stood against the wall, hands clasped behind their backs, eyes downcast as they waited for their work to resume. 

“Think you could pick up the pace, Smith?”

John slid out and fixed Rattigan with a glare. “It’s hardly my fault these bolts have been allowed to rust so badly. And the gears are a mess. I’m surprised this thing’s lasted so long.” Rattigan huffed as John rolled back under the machine, calling out to the staff. “Did you notice the machine doing anything odd over the past few days? Funny noises, things sticking, the like?”

One of the women started to answer but John couldn’t hear her very well. He rolled back out and sat up. “Sorry, what’s your name?”

“Miranda. Miranda Cleaves,” she said.

“Come over here, it’s too loud,” John said, patting the floor next to him. Miranda came and knelt down. “What were you saying?”

“It started making a grinding noise a few weeks ago, and it’s been getting worse,” Miranda said. “We didn’t think anything of it until today when the labels went on wrong.”

John had Miranda show him the source of the noise, where he found another set of rusty bolts and gummed-up gears. Before he could get started, though, something caught John’s eye.

“Miranda, what happened to your hands?”

“Nothing,” she said, quickly pulling them behind her back. 

“We don’t have time for this, Smith,” Rattigan grumbled. John ignored him.

“It looked like you have some burns,” he continued. “May I see?” He held out one hand to Miranda and she reluctantly let him take hers. As he thought, it was dotted with blisters - some still angry and pink, some fading into scars. They ran from her fingertips up past her wrists. “How did you get these?”

Miranda was tight-lipped, looking back and forth from Rattigan to John. “They’re nothing, my skin’s just sensitive…”

John glanced at the other two workers, who appeared to be shying away. “You have them too, don’t you? What happened?”

“This is ridiculous,” Rattigan snapped. “It’s probably just an allergic reaction. We’ll find some gloves. I need this machine working again.”

This time John glared at the other man, before looking at Miranda’s hands again. She flinched at his examination. “They hurt, don’t they?”

“Yes, Mr. Smith,” she said quietly, her chin wobbling. 

“I might have something in my lab to help, but I need to know what caused this,” he said. Miranda’s eyes kept flitting back to Rattigan and the warning scowl on his face. “Don’t worry about him, I’ll deal with it. What happened to your hands?”

***

Before long, John had Miranda and her colleagues treated and the entire plant shut down, despite Rattigan’s protests. The younger man only cooperated by calling Saxon, who strode into John’s lab with barely restrained rage.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” John replied, shoving a canister across his bench. “Spectrox? Seriously? Are you _trying_ to kill your employees, or do you just not care?”

“There’s nothing wrong with spectrox-”

“In its refined form,” John finished. “Yeah. But where have you been getting this from?”

“Some supplier Dorium knows,” Saxon said.

John sighed in disgust. “He’s selling you crap. Look at this.” He turned a microscope to face Saxon’s side of the bench. “Refined spectrox forms neat little crystals. Unrefined is fibrous clusters.”

“Both are here,” Saxon observed.

“Whoever’s refining this is doing a shit job,” John said, “and your employees are suffering. I found almost two dozen people who’d worked at the mixing station and now have chemical burns on their hands, and all you did was move them to a different part of the factory. Even if they stopped exposure straight away, they’re going to end up with nerve damage and muscle spasms eventually. I was able to give them something for the pain and blisters, but that damage is irreversible.” He’d begun pacing as he ranted, eventually coming to a stop by Saxon and the microscope again. “What are you even _doing_ with it? It’s not in the formula you gave me, and none of the workers would talk.”

“It’s for a new type of Vitex,” Saxon explained. “You know they call spectrox a fountain of youth-”

“Hogwash,” John spat. “You’re going to put your staff and your customers at risk for some pseudoscientific nonsense?”

Saxon shrugged. “If they’re gullible enough to buy it, too bad for them.”

“Except that you could _kill_ them.”

“I know that _now_ ,” Saxon shot back. “Consider making this safe a new project.”

“You need to get rid of this batch,” John said. “If you’re going to use it, buy it from someone _reputable _.”__

__“And spend all that money twice? I don’t think so,” Saxon laughed. “That section will be shut down for now, but everything else goes back to normal. And every _one_ goes back to work.” He left the lab before John could protest further._ _

____

***

A break in the search for John came a week later, when Saxon was followed to a dockside warehouse and one of Vastra and Jenny’s boys climbed a wall to peek through a window. It was after dark, and only a few lights here and there were on, so a bank of windows all lit up was curious.

“He saw John inside,” Jenny reported. “It was a lab, he was working in there by himself.”

“Saxon must be keeping him there,” Vastra mused. “We’ve had that warehouse marked, nobody’s seen John outside that building.”

“What do we do?” Rose asked. “Go and get him?”

“And then what? Saxon will be furious, that won’t be any good for either of you,” Vastra said. “No, we need to talk to Saxon, get him to let us see John and make sure he’s all right.”

“He said if John worked for him he would keep John’s past quiet so the two of you could get married,” Jenny mused. “That means he can’t keep John locked up indefinitely, otherwise he’s not fulfilling his end of the deal.” 

“So we have to negotiate,” Rose sighed. “Work out a way for him to come home.”

“No,” Vastra said. “ _You_ have to negotiate. You’re the one invested. Saxon will want to talk to _you_.”

Rose felt the blood drain from her face. “Right. Okay.”

“River will make contact. We’ll make sure John’s with him,” Vastra decided. “We’ll keep the place under surveillance, but you’ll go in alone.”

“Anything else?” Rose asked, mildly irritated by Vastra’s unilateral declarations.

“No,” she said. “You’ll know what to say.”

***

Saxon was amenable to a meeting, as long as it was on his turf. Rose went to the townhouse they’d staked out, and was greeted by Lucy, who called for tea and sat in the parlour chatting as if it was a social call. Rose tapped the side of her teacup as the seconds ticked by, and was just about to say something when Saxon came in.

“Lady Powell, how lovely to see you,” he said. “Sorry to have kept you waiting.”

Rose couldn’t think of anything to say that wasn’t crude and insulting, so she kept her greeting short. “Shall we get right to it?”

“As you wish.” He gestured to the open door behind him and ushered Rose into a dining room. At the far end of the table, slumped in a chair, was John.

He looked awful, in worn shirtsleeves and a rumpled waistcoat. He was sorely in need of a haircut and a shave, and was so pale that the dark circles under his eyes overshadowed his freckles. They’d only been apart for a few weeks - how would he look after a month?

John heard Rose’s breath catch in her throat and his head snapped up. His instinctive grin only lasted a moment before being replaced by a weak smile on his lips and fear in his eyes. “Rose?” he whispered.

She just nodded, resisting the urge to fling herself into his arms. Instead she cross the room calmly and sat next to him, taking his hands from his lap. They were cold and clammy. “Yeah. I’m here.”

“Why?”

“To find out when I get to bring you home,” she said, suddenly more confident. “You can’t stay locked away forever, otherwise Mr. Saxon’s silence won’t mean anything to us. Isn’t that right, Mr. Saxon?” He had taken a seat across the table, and Rose raised her voice to direct her last statement at him.

“I suppose it is,” Saxon sighed. “You see, I have our dear John working on some rather sensitive research, and time is of the essence. The poor man’s been working round the clock so we can get it into production.”

John just glared at Saxon as best he could. Rose forged ahead.

“And when might this work be complete?”

“Another month or so,” John mumbled. “ _If_ it all goes according to my schedule.”

“A month, then,” Rose said. “He works for a month, then you let him go.”

“If I recall, our agreement wasn’t for a fixed-term position,” Saxon sneered. “I’ll still need him working for me.”

“He can work more reasonable hours, then,” Rose snapped, “and _live_ with his family. We can set up what he needs at the estate.”

“Probably could do that faster if you hadn’t burned down my workshop,” John added, a little spark returning to him.

Saxon didn’t flinch. “A month,” he said. “Or whenever he’s finished.”

“Whichever comes first,” Rose added. She wouldn’t put it past Saxon to sabotage the work to keep John longer, but she also knew John could work very quickly if it meant being home sooner.

“And I get to write to her,” John interjected. “As often as I want, and you won’t block her mail from me either.”

Saxon didn’t seem to like it, but agreed. “Fine.”

Rose stood, the men rising with her. “Now, Mr. Saxon, if you’d excuse us, I’d like a word with Mr. Smith alone.”

“How improper,” Saxon grinned. “You have ten minutes.”

“Twenty,” Rose countered.

“Fifteen.”

“Fine.”

Saxon smirked at them one last time and sauntered out of the room. Rose held her breath until the door clicked shut, then let it out in an audible _whoosh_.

“Rose, what on earth-”

“Shut up and hug me,” Rose interrupted, flinging her arms around John’s neck. His came around her waist automatically, squeezing her tight while he bent his head to her shoulder. They stayed like that for a long moment, just breathing each other in, until Rose pulled back. She cupped his cheek and studied his weary face. “Are you okay?”

John nodded. “I’ve dealt with worse. I’m fine.”

“Good.” She punched him in the arm. John yelped and rubbed the spot she’d hit. “That’s for running off in the dead of night and worrying us sick for weeks!”

“I’m sorry! Rose, I’m so sorry. Really. How did you find me?”

“Vastra and Jenny. We knew you’d gone to Saxon, just had to figure out where that was.” She explained how their friends had called her and the work they’d done. 

“You left your mother in charge of the estate _alone_?”

“She’s far more capable than she makes herself out to be,” Rose chided. “And Mickey’s helping her.”

John sighed and sank back down in his chair. “Do you have any idea what you’re getting yourself into?”

“I’ve pieced it together,” she said, drawing her chair closer and sitting. “I learned a great deal from Vastra and Jenny, and Miss Poisson and Ms. Song told me more.”

John’s eyes widened. “You… spoke with them?”

“At length,” Rose said. She told him about the arrangement she and the other women had made. “I’ve already written to Mr. Copper.”

“And your mother has approved spending the money?”

“My mother has refused to accept your half of the trusteeship,” she said. “She never signed the papers you left. So all I need is for _you_ to sign this.” She pulled an envelope and a pen from her handbag and brought out the bank order.

“Rose Tyler,” John murmured, shaking his head as he signed his name. “You’re absolutely brilliant. What would I do without you?”

“I’d like to know, actually,” she answered. “You look terrible.”

John slid the paperwork back to Rose and ran a hand through his lank hair. “Research. Product development. Keeping Saxon from injuring his employees.” He explained his _H. vitae_ work, and told her about the broken machines and the spectrox. 

“That’s awful,” Rose said, taking his hands.

“I know. I’m afraid… I worry about what will happen if I leave.”

“ _When_ you leave. In a month,” Rose insisted. “You’ll figure something out. Perhaps a labour inspector will just happen by one day.”

John smiled, though only his lips turned up. “A month. We can do this.”

“Of course we can. You’ll be home for Mickey and Martha’s wedding. Which reminds me, Mickey wants you to be his best man.”

John ducked his head. “Tell him I’d be honoured.”

“I will. I’m ringing him tonight,” she said. “I’ll tell Vastra and Jenny about today, they’re already prepared to keep an eye on things. Just… just _tell_ us if you need help, okay? We could have avoided a lot of this if you’d just asked.”

“I’m sorry,” John repeated. “But you shouldn’t have come after me. Or come here! Once you start making deals with him…” John shook his head. “You should go back to Bucknall.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Rose argued. 

“You’ll be more help to me at home than here,” John replied. “Like you said, Vastra and Jenny will keep an eye on things here. I need you to keep Bucknall in order, and rebuild my workshop.” He caressed her cheek, and Rose closed her eyes. “I need to know you’ll be there for me to come home to.”

“Of course I will,” Rose said. “I’ll always be there. _Bucknall_ will always be there. I just don’t want you here by yourself.”

“You wouldn’t get to see me anyway,” John insisted. “I’ll be working. You should be too. Please, just… I’ll feel so much better knowing that you’re at home, and that Bucknall is in your hands.”

She threw up her hands. “All right. All right, I’ll go home. But I’ll be right back here in a month to get you.”

“Deal. One month.” He glanced at the clock on the wall. “We’ve still got a bit of time.”

Rose smiled gently, leaned in and kissed him. “Not enough.”

John pulled her into his lap, and Rose giggled as she settled in. “Better make it good then.” His lips met hers hungrily, and he braced her with a hand between her shoulder blades. Rose played with the hair at the nape of his neck, and he hummed happily. He’d missed her touch, her soft skin and gentle fingers. She’d missed that sound, and the warmth of his embrace. 

Rose withdrew to catch her breath, and rested her head on his shoulder. He smelled faintly of chemicals and grease, a not-unpleasant combination that reminded her of when he was still the estate’s handyman. “I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you too,” he said, soaking in every aspect of holding her close until it came time for them to part. 

Rose stood reluctantly, and John walked with her to the parlour door. She drew him down for one more lingering kiss before they rejoined Saxon and Lucy. “Please take care of yourself.”

“I’ll try,” he said. The knob turned under his hand, and Saxon flung the door open. 

“Ah, perfect timing. Lucy darling, will you see Lady Powell out?” he said, gesturing into the parlour. 

“One month, Mr. Saxon,” Rose warned. “I’ll be seeing you then.”

“Of course,” he said, that awful grin spreading over his face. “Have a safe journey home.”

Rose glanced back at John, and it was only at his nod that she felt the strength to leave.


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose heads back to Bucknall, while John tries to tie things up in the City.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M NOT DEAD. Just busy. My contract ends this week though so maybe more writing time in the future? We'll see.
> 
> Heads up for a non-consensual kiss at the end of the chapter.

Rose excused herself to her room right after dinner. She’d relayed the results of her meeting with Saxon as soon as she returned, then made arrangements to go back to Bucknall. The next available train was the day after next, leaving her plenty of time to pack up her things. For now, she just wanted to rest. 

She’d not had to assert herself like this against an opponent of much difficulty before, and now she’d gone toe-to-toe with both Reinette Poisson and Harold Saxon, on top of living with the force of nature that was Madame Vastra. She was emotionally and mentally exhausted - this, she realised, was the kind of fortitude her father always said he was trying to cultivate in her. She understood better how helpful it had been to have her father or John at her side all these months, for the meetings with lawyers and bankers and tenants. How much of what she had achieved was because she had good ideas and solid plans, and how much was because a man had supported them? Now she worried about the next month - would she have to drag Mickey about in order to get anything done? Was her progress with Reinette only because they were both women, and her agreement with Saxon because he was just going to manipulate things later?

She shook her head and sat down in front of the mirror to take down her hair. _Don’t be ridiculous,_ she chided herself. _You’ll be fine. John always lets you take the lead and everything goes just fine. You’re more than competent. You’re brilliant._ She reminded herself of her education, her training, her natural abilities. She was smart and clever and responsible. She would be a damn good Countess, even without her second-in-command.

One month. She pulled out her diary and marked down the date before changing into her nightgown and climbing into bed.

***

Anthony was furious with Rose for leaving for so long, and when she returned to Bucknall House, he withheld his usual hug in favour of a scowl and a pout. He was further dismayed that John wasn’t with her.

“He was more work to do in the City,” Rose explained, trying to placate her little brother to no avail.

“But you _said_ you wouldn’t stay away so long again!” he whined.

“I’m sorry, Tony, but sometimes our work means we have to do things we don’t want to do,” she said. “He says he misses you very much.”

Tony’s pout could not be moved. For their parts, Mickey and Lady Jacqueline hadn’t been thrilled with Rose’s absence either, but were much more appreciative of her return. Once Miss Oswald had pulled Tony back to his lessons, they filled her in.

“Sir James took quite an interest in us while you were away,” Lady Jacqueline said.

Rose was surprised. “How do you mean?”

“Invited us for dinner, kept paying visits,” she said. “For no particular reason at all.”

“And not just here,” Mickey added. “He went ‘round to a few of the farms too, according to the tenants.” At Rose’s alarm, he continued. “Mr. Yates said it was mostly small talk about the livestock and crops at first, but then he started asking much more specific questions about leases and such. Mr. Sullivan said he asked about you and John a lot.”

“ _And_ your Uncle Stuart was skulking about again, no doubt on Sir James’ behalf,” Lady Jacqueline sniffed. “Kept talking about Vitex and that silly plant. Did your dad end up keeping those investments?”

Rose hadn’t realised how much her mother had been paying attention to the finances. “We got him out of most of it. I think we kept some in Vitex since it turns out the stuff might actually work, but I don’t know if we’ll stay,” she said.

“That’s the company John’s working at now, yeah?” Mickey asked.

She nodded. “An old friend of his runs it. Well, they’re not really friends anymore, but… John feels like he has to help him.”

“Of course he does,” Lady Jacqueline sighed. “How long until he comes back?”

“A month,” Rose said. “He’ll be back in plenty of time for the wedding, Mickey. In the meantime, we have a workshop to rebuild.”

***

Despite his protests that he didn’t have the capability to _re_ -refine the spectrox, Saxon insisted that John work with the product they already had on hand, and with the tools available and not much else. Thankfully, the new formula tested well, so John could focus on this new project.

With parts scattered everywhere, John was working on cobbling together something that might approximate the equipment necessary to refine the spectrox. He still occasionally saw a worker with bad blisters from the chemical, but at least now he’d formulated a salve that helped with the pain. More frequently, Saxon wandered in to harass him about his progress.

“I’d work a lot faster if I was left alone,” he grumbled, not looking up at where Saxon leaned on his workbench. “Don’t touch that, you’ll put your eye out.”

Saxon dropped the metal he’d been toying with, and a spring snapped off and shot across the room. “How else am I supposed to see how you’re doing?”

“You _could_ just trust what I tell you,” he said. “I am _actually_ working.”

“Just making sure you’re on task, like any good manager.”

John resisted the urge to snort with laughter. “Whatever you say.”

Saxon wandered over to the bookshelf, running his fingers over the spines. “That Lady Powell of yours is something else, isn’t she?”

“She’s not _mine_ , she doesn’t belong to anyone,” John gritted out.

“I hear she’s become a benefactor for the girls at the Versailles,” Saxon continued. “The Copper Foundation announced a major donation from her to their Working Girls’ Aid Society.”

“Her ladyship is very generous,” John said. 

“Evidently it’s’ a pilot project to fund the girls’ health and education, and she intends to be _very_ hands-on with it,” Saxon said. “You must be so proud.” John nodded vaguely. “If only someone like her had been around when you worked there.”

John took a deep breath to prevent himself from gripping his screwdriver too hard. “If only,” he muttered.

“She wouldn’t have anything to do with Reinette’s plans to move her business, would she?”

“How would I know?”

“Aren’t you still the estate’s trustee?”

“I just signed off on a monetary donation. If Reinette’s moving, you’ll have to ask her about that,” John said. “Perhaps she found a place with fewer conditions on the lease.”

Out of the corner of his eye, John could see Saxon glare at him. “Perhaps. I just wonder how many of her staff will go with her.”

“Reinette’s a good boss. They’ll go.”

“Ah yes. She was such a good _boss_ to you, wasn’t she.”

“Don’t try to be so clever, Koschei, it’s never suited you.”

“Fine,” Saxon said with an exaggerated pout. “You used to be so much _fun_ , Theta, what happened?”

“You know what happened.”

The two men stared each other down from across the room. Eventually, Saxon left John to his work in a huff. John laid down his screwdriver and the piece he’d been working on and rubbed his eyes. He absolutely had to get this right, or more staff and customers would be in danger. Then he had to make sure Saxon got his refined spectrox from a legitimate source if he was so determined to use it, as he was sure he’d be asked to keep working with the substance and there was no way he was bringing the unrefined product to Bucknall. Even the refined spectrox could be harmful in large enough quantities and he wasn’t going to take that risk. 

He’d seen green shoots poking out of the mangled brown leaves and grass outside the window of his basement room the other day. Soon. He’d be home soon.

***

Rose couldn’t quite settle back into the House. Her mother was still fretting, her brother was still mad at her. Mickey went back to his automobile shop and wedding plans with Martha. Lady Jacqueline had been exercising her right to breakfast in bed more often recently, and with Tony avoiding her, Rose spend most mornings in the dining room alone. Mr. Mott would bring the post and the newspaper, she’d eat as a matter of routine, then migrate to her study.

One morning, the paper held some interesting news. Parliament had lost confidence in the Prime Minister, forcing an election to be held in six weeks. Rose sighed. Bucknall was in Prime Minister Jones’s riding, and she would no doubt be looking to the Tylers for the same support they’d shown in the last election. Rose cast the paper aside and rubbed her temples. She’d have to come up with a polite way to duck out of any political activities; there was just too much on her plate. 

She caught sight of a Vitex advertisement along the bottom of the front page. Bold lettering proclaimed the debut of a new formula, a rendering of Harold Saxon’s smiling face next to it. Rose wondered if that meant John’s work was finished. His last letter hadn’t mentioned it. Then again, it hadn’t mentioned much of anything, nor had the others. Still, they’d arrived several times per week, just saying that he was okay, and that work was progressing. Rose tamped down the urge to try telephoning, or to march right back into the City and drag him out. She hadn’t received a letter from John that morning, so one would probably come the next day. She could wait. 

Not wanting to leave her home unattended again certainly added to that resolve. Mickey and her mother had been clearly upset by Sir James and Uncle Stuart’s attentions, which had not waned in the few weeks she’d been home. There had been more invitations, as well as “coincidental” meetings on the street in town or on the riding trails. Sir James had turned Peckham Hall into a centre of parties and socialisation that Keisha and Shareen had become swept up in, saying they were just like the extravagant parties the nouveau riche were holding in America. Evidently a number of fashionable Americans were regular attendees, and Sir James was quite taken with their suggestions. Her old friends had tried to bring Rose along, but she always resisted. They were both younger daughters in less prominent families, and had fewer responsibilities than Rose. They’d mentioned hoping to find a husband there, perhaps a wealthy American. Regardless, Rose felt she couldn’t relate to them anymore, especially when she spoke of farms and investments and was answered with blank stares. 

The stranger feeling was that she didn’t even miss it. A year ago she’d have balked at the idea of not going to a party, but now other things excited her. The thought of travel, or stories of adventure and far-off lands; seeing her brother grow up; looking at the stars with John. She would miss having girl friends deeply, if it weren’t for Martha. She saw her frequently as she helped plan the wedding. It was a pleasant enough distraction when she wanted it, and Martha was a patient listener when she needed her to be. Visiting Martha got Rose out of the house, and she arrived early the afternoon she saw the Vitex ad.

Martha was grinning when she answered the door. “I have the _best_ news,” she said.

“Hello to you too!” Rose laughed. “What is it?”

“I’ve been accepted to Royal Hope!” 

Rose instantly swept her into a hug. “Oh, congratulations! I’m so proud of you!” Royal Hope had been Martha’s first choice for medical school, as well as being Dr. Shaw’s alma mater. 

“I _just_ found out. Haven’t even told Mickey yet,” she said, taking Rose’s coat and ushering her into her parlour. 

“He must know you’ll be leaving, right?” Rose asked. “You’re brilliant, we all knew you’d get in.”

“I told him right from the start that I’d be going,” she said. “It’s only in the City. He can come with me if he wants, but I’ll visit as often as I can. And of course I’ll come back here when I’m finished - Dr. Shaw wants me to join her practice.”

They settled in, working on addressing invitations. The wedding would be in Bucknall, and Rose had offered rooms at Bucknall House for her family to stay in. She updated Martha on how things were with her family, John, and the estate. 

“One more week, then I’m going into the City and making sure he comes home,” Rose declared.

“Just in time for your birthday,” Martha pointed out.

“I hadn’t even thought of that,” Rose admitted. “It just hasn’t seemed to matter so much these days.”

“Well, it may not be as exciting as your twenty-first, but it still matters,” she said.

“I suppose I’ll have everyone for dinner,” Rose said. “But I can’t imagine anything remotely like last year. It seems like a party for a completely different person.”

“In a way, it was,” Martha answered. “And you _are_ different now, Rose. You’re less impulsive, more thoughtful. If you were to convince the school choir to go on strike now, you’d have a much better set of demands.”

Rose laughed. “They’d have definitely been more articulate,” she said, “but no less vehement!”

“Absolutely,” Martha giggled. “Though if you _did_ want to go to a big party, I’ve heard Peckham Hall is the place for it.”

“I know,” Rose groaned. “Sir James keeps inviting me and I keep turning him down. I might consider going just to see Keisha and Shareen if it wasn’t at his place.”

“Worried he might propose again?” Martha teased.

“Don’t even joke about that, he might think the third time’s the charm,” Rose sighed. “You just reminded me that my birthday means the clock is ticking.”

“We just said that a lot can change in one year,” Martha said. “Imagine what can happen in three.” She put down her pen and reached across the table to squeeze Rose’s hand. “You’ve got a lot of people supporting you, Rose. We’ll do everything we can to make sure Bucknall stays with you.”

“Thank you,” Rose said, smiling gently. “I’m going to need it.”

***

Rose was coming tomorrow. John wasn’t feeling nearly as excited or relieved as he thought he would. He was exhausted. He’d finally made a break in the refining process and stayed up late almost every night of the week to make sure it worked and then put Saxon’s entire supply through it. Bleary-eyed, he checked the last sample under the microscope and looked at the clock. _I suppose technically, she’s coming today,_ he thought, realising it was after two in the morning.

He cleaned up the lab, putting away chemicals and equipment, and headed back to his room. The burly man assigned to him followed to lock him in as usual, but John was too tired to make his usual snarky comments. He was also too tired to notice Saxon ambling about the building, approaching from the other end of a hallway. 

“Theeetaaaa! Finally done for the night?” he slurred. Saxon’s eyes were red-rimmed and his hair and clothes were askew. He slung an arm around John’s shoulders. “You know,” he continued before John could respond, “you work too hard. I’m such a slave driver. I should have given you more time to relax and have fun, you know?”

“No matter. I’m finished now,” John said, stumbling into a wall as Saxon tried to walk with him. 

“Finished! Does that mean you’ll be leaving me? Oh, what a shame. You’ve done _such_ a good job, and now I won’t get to see you for aaaaagggesss,” he said. “Ohhh! I know a place we can still get a drink. Hey!” He waved at the burly man. “Go get the car, we’re gonna-”

“I’m really tired, Harold, I’ve hardly slept all week. Next time I come visit, okay?” John said, trying to gently brush Saxon off. But the burly man had already gone outside. 

“Pffft.” Spit from Saxon’s raspberry flew at John’s face. “With that _Roooose_ of yours, that probably won’t be for for _everrr_. She doesn’t let you have fun. I’d let you have fun.”

Saxon tripped over his own feet and John ducked to catch him. “Rose lets me have plenty of fun. You’ll probably come by Bucknall on your own anyway, won’t you?” He kept his tone light-hearted even though it was a truth he dreaded. He’d spent enough time around the man while he was intoxicated, both as Koschei and as Saxon, to know everything had to stay positive if it was going to end well. “We can get a drink then, yeah?”

“ _Fine_.” Saxon sighed exaggeratedly, straightened himself up and pushed John to arms’ length, insisting he could stand on his own. “We _did_ have fun though, didn’t we Theta? All those years…”

“Yes, Koschei. We had fun,” John said. The door to the basement was within reach. John fumbled for how to wrap up the encounter so he could slip away and get to bed. “I’m sorry things ended the way they did.”

“It was such a shame,” Saxon agreed. “I only ever meant to get the best for both of us. To have you and me, on top of the world… Just like we wanted.”

John shook his head. “No, that’s what you wanted. I only wanted us to be happy.”

“Don’t you see though?” Saxon said, swaying as he took a step forward. “That’s what I was _doing_.” John stepped back as Saxon kept advancing, and felt his back hit the wall. “We can still have that, Theta.” 

“Kosch-” 

Saxon cut him off with his lips pressed to his, hands pinning John to the wall by his shoulders. John flattened himself against the panelling, in a startled moment that drew itself out far longer than he appreciated, before shoving Saxon back to the opposite side of the hallway. 

“That’s not what I want anymore,” he growled. “That ended when you brought trouble to our doorstep and disappeared. You only ever looked out for yourself. It took me far too long to realise that.” 

“It was wrong of me, Theta. I’m a different man now, I’m sor-”

“Save it. I’ve seen just how different you really are.” John stalked to the basement door and slammed it shut, locking it from his side for the first time.


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John comes home. New routines are established, and they're worrying. An uninvited birthday guest leaves something unpleasant behind.

Early in the morning, Strax pulled up in front of Saxon’s factory, and Rose focused on steadying her breaths. An attendant opened the gates and directed them around the side of the building. John was waiting on a small set of concrete steps, and smiled broadly when he saw the Tyler car. He reached Rose’s door before Strax could get out, and opened it and his arms for her.

Rose snuggled into his embrace gratefully. John held her and rubbed her back, giving her a squeeze before releasing her. 

“Ready to go home?” she asked.

“More than,” he answered, giving her a quick kiss.

Strax helped John load up his equipment and belongings, and soon they were off.

“No Saxon?” Rose asked as the motor started.

John shook his head, pressing his lips together in a tight grimace. “He knew you’d be coming this morning. If he doesn’t want… well. I’m not waiting for him. Let’s go.”

The ride home was quiet. John admitted that he’d been up rather late the past few nights to finish up a few things and pack. He looked better than he had the last time Rose saw him, but he still welcomed her suggestion that he lie down across the back seat, his head in her lap. His long legs tangled awkwardly over the bench, but he soon fell asleep. Rose ran her fingers through his hair, working out a few tangles, enjoying the soft strands and his contented sighs. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to rest at the townhouse, my lady?” Strax asked.

“No, thank you, Strax,” she said. “I just want to go home.”

***

Anthony Tyler was conflicted. On the one hand, John had left him again, for weeks and weeks, after saying he wouldn’t. On the other hand, John was back now, and Anthony had _missed_ him. 

The other hand won out. John was barely through the front door and Anthony was running across the hall to gleefully give John a hug. John scooped him up and held him tight.

“I’m sorry I was gone for so long,” John said.

“Just don’t do it again.”

“I’ll try, Tony. I’ll do my very best,” he said, putting Tony down.

That would have to satisfy the boy. Lady Jacqueline directed Rory to go with Strax to unload John’s lab equipment at the new workshop, and John accepted a hug from her.

“It’s good to have you back, sweetheart,” she said. “Shall I ring for some tea? You’ve just missed luncheon but I’m sure Mrs. Grant can put something together for you.”

“Could you perhaps have it sent up to my room?” John asked, his eyes following Ianto as he carried his bags upstairs. “I’d just like to rest for a while, if that’s all right.”

“Certainly! Take your time,” she said.

Rose pressed a kiss to John’s cheek. “I’ll look in on you in a few hours, okay?” He nodded and trudged up the stairs, gripping the railing tight.

“I’ve never known him to admit to being tired before,” Lady Jacqueline remarked.

“Nor have I,” Rose said, worrying her gloves in her hands. “He slept the whole way here as well.”

“The poor man,” she said. “Jack, could you please have that tea sent up? And let John know he doesn’t have to come down for dinner if he’s not up to it.” Lady Jacqueline left the footman and led the way into the library.

Rose collapsed into a chair, and Anthony curled up with his astronomy book in the corner. He’d decided that he had to show John that he’d still been learning for when they next took out the telescope. 

“What’s himself brought back in those cases, then?” Lady Jacqueline asked.

“Equipment to continue his work for Vitex while he’s here,” Rose said. “He’s developing new formulas or something, I didn’t entirely understand it.”

“I do hope _we_ see something out of that,” her mother sniffed.

“We’re invested in the company. If it does well, so do we. I just want to make sure he doesn’t work himself to death,” Rose sighed. 

“What of the agent’s work? He’d best not neglect that.”

Rose glared a little at her mum. “I can handle it just fine, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“Perhaps I did forget, with all your swanning off.”

“That was _for_ work!”

“Could have fooled me, I thought it was for John.”

“Who I need for work!” Lady Jacqueline arched an eyebrow in response. “And yes, because I love him. They aren’t mutually exclusive, Mum. Even if he wasn’t the agent, he’s one of my best supporters. We’re a team. We need each other.”

Lady Jacqueline’s face softened. “I know, sweetheart. I just don’t want you to forget about us.”

“I won’t, Mum,” she said quietly. “I never could.”

***

Upstairs, John found Ianto already unpacking for him.

“Your speed really shouldn’t surprise me anymore, but it still does,” he said, shedding his jacket and laying it over the footboard of his bed. 

“Thank you, Mr. Smith.”

“It’s still just John, Ianto.”

“Apologies, sir,” Ianto said. John let it slide. ‘Sir’ was still much better than ‘Mr. Smith.’ “You’ve done quite a number on some of these shirts, I’m afraid.”

“I’m sorry, I tried to limit which ones I used in the lab. They took a bit of a beating,” he said. “Don’t worry about getting them perfectly clean, I’ll keep them for messy work.”

Ianto nodded, but John could already see him sizing up the stains. He’d have to let him know what they were from, to at least give him a fighting chance against them. 

Jack knocked then, entering with a tray of tea, sandwiches, and fruit. “Mrs. Grant saved these bananas just for you.”

“Fantastic,” John said, plopping down in his armchair. “Tell me everything I’ve missed downstairs. I want to hear it all.”

“Amelia’s been accepted to an apprenticeship,” Jack said. “She’ll be leaving after Miss Jones and Mr. Smith’s wedding, since she’s making their cake. Rory’s going with her.”

“Whereabouts?”

“The Petrichor Patisserie in the City,” Ianto said. “Rory’s applying for a nursing program, with MIss Jones and Dr. Shaw’s support.”

“Good for them!” John said, preparing his tea. “And how’s my workshop?”

“All back in order,” Jack told him. “Just waiting for you to make a mess again.”

John laughed. He’d missed Bucknall and its people terribly, and as Jack and Ianto filled him in on all that he’d missed, he found himself finally relaxing properly. Enough so that soon he interrupted the conversation with a yawn.

“Sorry, boys. I think a nap is in order,” he said as he stood and stretched. 

“We won’t keep you, then,” Jack said as Ianto gathered up John’s clothes. “Lady Jacqueline said not to worry about coming down for dinner, so just get some rest.”

“And ring if you need anything,” Ianto added.

“Thank you,” John said. “And thank you for everything while I’ve been away. It means a lot to know you’re here.”

“We’re family,” Jack said, clapping John on the shoulder. “That’s what we do.”

After they left, John changed into his pyjamas, climbed into bed, and promptly fell asleep.

***

John awoke to careful fingers stroking through his hair. In the dim light he saw Rose, perched on the edge of his bed, and broke into a sleepy smile. 

“Hello, sleepyhead,” she murmured.

“Hey. Have I been out for long?” he asked, voice raspy.

“I’m just heading to bed myself,” she said. “I checked on you earlier but you were sound asleep, I couldn’t bring myself to wake you.”

John noticed she was still in her dinner clothes, sequins and beads shining in the glow from his bedside lamp. “I missed dinner?”

“Yeah. Mrs. Grant has a plate in the icebox for you, if you’re hungry,” she said. 

John breathed deeply and turned onto his back. “Mmmph. Not right now.” He flopped one arm to the empty side of the bed, patting the duvet. “Sleep here tonight.”

Rose smiled gently. “Gwen’s waiting for me. I’ll be back.” She leaned over to kiss him, giggling as John’s arms came around her and he pretended not to let her go.

True to her word, Rose returned to John’s room in her dressing gown and slippers, her hair trailing over her shoulder in a long braid. John was nearly asleep again, but curled into her side the moment Rose was under the covers. 

“I had a hard time sleeping without you,” he said, resting his head on Rose’s chest and draping his arm over her waist. Her fingers found his hair again and he focused on the soothing motions. “The bed was uncomfortable and you felt so far away.”

“I missed it too,” Rose whispered, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “You did far too much for that man.”

John grumbled at the allusion to Saxon and burrowed closer. “Not thinking about that now.”

“Of course. Sleep.”

But John was already dreaming.

***

It was John’s turn to wake up alone after a night with Rose - she’d left a note on his nightstand saying she’d gone for breakfast. Checking his clock, he guessed she hadn’t been gone long, so John dressed quickly and joined her in the dining room.

Lady Jacqueline greeted him first. “Good morning, sleeping beauty! Did you have a good rest?”

“I did, thank you,” John said, filling his plate. Rose smiled at him over her tea. Anthony clamoured for John to sit next to him.

“What are your plans for the day?” Rose asked. 

“I’d like to unpack the workshop, and perhaps you could bring me up to speed with what I’ve missed,” he said. 

“Can we take the telescope out tonight?” Anthony asked.

“Tony, John’s just come home,” Lady Jacqueline chided.

“It’s all right,” John said. “Tell me, Tony, what’s the forecast tonight?”

“Clear skies, hardly any wind,” he said. “I’ve been studying and I have lots of questions.”

“I think that could be arranged, but let’s stay in the Tower tonight, okay?” John said. “We’ll go out to the meadow another time.”

Anthony was just thrilled to spend time with John no matter where they were, and accepted this compromise unconditionally. He ran off to his lessons with Miss Clara with a promise to be ready right after dinner.

“Are you sure you’re up for that?” Rose asked. 

“I’ve been tired, not an invalid.” John realised how snarky that sounded. “Sorry. I just want things to go back to normal as soon as they can.”

“Of course,” Rose said. “Let’s get started.”

***

The new normal didn’t take long to establish. John soon ruined three more shirts in his workshop, two of which could not be rescued even by Ianto’s skills. He and Rose visited the tenants and saw that planting was well in hand, and the piglets and lambs were growing strong. Flowers were budding and starting to bloom, and the House got ready for Martha Jones and her family to stay during her wedding.

John found himself fixing up a few unused guest rooms that had escaped his first few rounds of repairs and renovations. Donna joined him, and threw open the dusty curtains, sending both of them into fits of coughing and laughter. 

“Good work there,” he teased.

“Watch it, Spaceman,” she said, playfully thumping his arm.

He helped her move furniture so she could clean behind and under it, adjusted wobbly legs, and tightened handles. Donna replaced linens and hoovered rugs, and both of them polished wood to shining. John checked the water in the guest bathrooms and tightened leaky taps.

“I’m surprised you’re doing all this yourself,” Donna said as she folded towels. “I’d have thought you’d get one of your boys on it.”

“I thought about it,” John called from inside a shower. “But Martha and Mickey are friends. I wanted to give this some personal attention.” He poked his head around the corner. “And why are _you_ up here instead of the housemaids?”

“Lady Powell wants the best,” Donna shrugged. 

“Rose or Jacqueline?”

“Both,” she said. “Besides, we hardly see each other anymore these days. You’ve only come down twice since you’ve been back.”

John set down his spanner and sat on the edge of the bathtub. “I’m sorry, Donna. It’s not for lack of missing you, believe me. There’s just hardly been any time. I’m essentially working two jobs.”

“I know,” Donna said, perching next to him. “We all miss you too, you know. If there’s anything we can do to help…”

“You’re doing just what I need by taking care of this house,” John said. “You’re all a great team, just the fact that Rose and I don’t need to worry about all of you makes our lives easier.”

“Even with Rory and Amelia leaving?”

John sighed. “We’ve decided not to replace Rory, at least not right away. We don’t really need two footmen, especially since I hardly ever use Ianto. Amelia’s position might be a little more tricky, but there’s only the four of us. I’ll want to see what Mrs. Grant thinks.”

“She’s over the moon about Amelia’s apprenticeship,” Donna said. “But has she not mentioned wanting to retire soon?”

“I’ve not spoken to her about it yet,” John admitted. “But that would throw a spanner in the works.” He nudged the tool with his foot and grinned.

“You’re terrible,” Donna said. “But you’ve got a few years with Mrs. Grant left, so don’t be too worried.”

“I’m not,” he said. “Not about that, anyway.”

Donna frowned. “And what _are_ you worried about?”

“Oh, the usual,” he said, getting up and grabbing the spanner. “Tenants, livestock, what to get Rose for her birthday.”

“You’re not fooling me, John,” Donna called after him as he tried to retreat back to the shower. “You still haven’t said what happened in the City. Or why you were there.”

“I told you, I was helping out an old friend.” He went back to the leaky pipe he’d been working on.

“With what? And why? I can’t see why something like that should have had the ladies of the house so upset,” she said. “Lady Jacqueline fretted about you the whole time.”

John paused in his work. “She… she did?”

“Of course she did.”

“Probably just wanted Rose to have some help,” he reasoned. “She already works too hard-”

“She was worried about _you_ , dumbo,” Donna interrupted. John looked up to see her standing over him. “We all were. Still are. Mr. Mott and Jack have noticed you’re not finishing your meals; Ianto says you’re keeping stranger hours than usual; and Rhys Williams says you’ve been asking him to order a lot of weird things.”

“What’s Rhys Williams got to do with it?”

“Gwen’s been seeing him,” Donna said.

“Since when?”

“Since Christmas at least. Stop trying to change the subject.”

John slumped into the corner of the shower and rested his arms on his knees, toying with the spanner. “It’s a long story.”

“We’ve got time.” She got a sigh in response. “Come on, you can help me make these beds while you’re at it.” Donna offered John a hand and pulled him up from the floor. She knew that having his hands busy would make him less self-conscious about unburdening his mind. 

Leaving the repairs for the moment, John followed Donna from guest room to guest room, and behind each closed door he told her everything she didn’t already know, right up to the night before Rose picked him up. 

“I brought some work home as well, that’s why I’ve not been around much. Between that and my duties with the estate…”

“You’re going to make yourself sick, John,” Donna said. 

“Probably already have,” he muttered. They were back where they started, and John was packing up his tools since it was almost time for dinner. 

“Seriously, though. You have to stop pushing yourself,” she insisted. “Get one of the boys to take care of this stuff. Or hire it out. You won’t be of any use to anyone if you keep this up.” John said nothing so she barrelled on. “Obviously you want to put the estate first, for Rose, but if you can’t keep up with Saxon’s work, that’ll hurt Rose too.”

“I know.”

“There are a dozen people downstairs who are _paid_ to do all this. You even sign our paycheques. Put us all to work.”

“I will, I will.”

“I mean today. You’re going to go relax before dinner, and tomorrow all you’re going to do is hand out the tools.”

“I thought _I_ was the one signing the paycheques around here?”

Donna whacked him on the arm, but she was returning his smile. “Off you go. I better not see you working on plumbing again.”

***

Rose’s birthday fell at the start of a very busy week for the household. Martha’s family would be arriving soon, as the wedding was exactly a week later. Rose pointedly ignored her mother’s suggestions for a party - it seemed she was still itching at the constraints of widowhood and attempting to live vicariously through her daughter. Rose stuck fast to her original plan for a quiet dinner with friends. Lady Jacqueline made up for it by decorating with pinks and yellows, and commissioning all of Rose’s favourite foods from Mrs. Grant.

She also knocked on Rose’s door while she was getting ready. “I brought you something, dear.” Rose turned around from her vanity, and Lady Jacqueline sat at the edge of her bed. She held out a large velvet case for Rose to unlatch and open. “It’s yours now.”

“Oh Mum, no,” she said, gently lifting out a very familiar piece of jewelry. It was the family tiara, one she’d seen her mother wear all the time. “This is yours! You should still wear it.”

“Nonsense,” Lady Jacqueline said, putting the case aside. “It belongs to the estate; the current Countess is entitled to wear it. And that’s not me anymore.”

“Technically I’m not supposed to wear tiaras yet.”

“If we wait for you to get married, you’ll never wear it,” her mother sniffed. “Gwen, you can fit this in with her hairstyle, yes?”

“Of course, my lady,” Gwen said. She adjusted a few of Rose’s curls and took the tiara from her, placing it gently on her head. The delicate gold frame nearly matched her hair, allowing the setting of diamond primroses and leaves to glitter on their own. 

“Your grandmother never liked me wearing it,” Lady Jacqueline said as Rose turned back to the mirror to take in her reflection. “But then, she never thought I was good enough for your father, wished he’d married someone more high-born.”

“She’d have _loved_ John, then,” Rose commented. 

“She probably turns over in her grave whenever you two even look at each other,” she laughed getting up to stand behind Rose and look at her in the mirror. “But she would be proud of you. Your grandfather too. And your father.” 

Rose saw her watery smile form in her reflection, struck by how much it looked like her mother’s. “Thanks, Mum.” 

“Enough, we’ll ruin our makeup. Let’s go down.”

The guest list was deliberately short - just Martha, Mickey, Jenny, and Vastra joined the Tyler ladies and John. Rose was happy to let the conversation drift away from herself and to other topics. Someone got John started about astronomy and he rambled on about how he was teaching Tony about the stars. Smiling contentedly, she just ate and listened.

It was good to see John get excited about something. The tiredness was visible in his eyes from the other end of the table, even as they lit up while he spoke. He really would have made a wonderful teacher - still could, she thought, and wondered if, after all this business with Saxon was over, he might like to go back to school. Or perhaps he could just dazzle the local schoolmaster with his intellect, even without a degree. Or maybe something else! She resolved that the sky would be the limit, as far as she was concerned, when it came to what John wanted to do with his life, and she would help make it happen.

The clinking of glass got her attention with a start, and her guests laughed.

“Are you back with us, Rose?” Mickey teased.

“Sorry, just thinking about how wonderful it is to have all of you here,” she said.

“John would like to make a toast!” Lady Jacqueline said. A look at John’s reddened face told Rose that he must have been coerced while she’d been daydreaming. 

“Oh?” She grinned cheekily, tongue in her teeth. “Let’s hear it then.”

John stood, and turned his wine glass around in his hands as he gathered his thoughts. “A year ago today, I met an extraordinary woman who was hiding from her own birthday party in the West Tower,” he said. “I didn’t know it then, mostly because I didn’t know who she was at the time, but Rose Tyler would change my life. 

“Over the past year, I’ve been lucky enough to be the recipient of much of her kindness and compassion. She’s been encouraging and supportive, believing in me when I didn’t believe in myself. I know the rest of you here, and many who aren’t with us tonight, have also experienced Rose’s care and conviction, and her amazing ability to make anyone feel important. I never thought-” He paused and looked at his glass before continuing. “I never thought, when I first came to Bucknall House, that I would be ever be up at this table, let alone surrounded by such wonderful people. I was happy downstairs-” He nodded in Mr. Mott’s direction. “-but now my family has grown. And it’s thanks to you, Rose Tyler.”

Finally, John raised his glass. “To Rose. May you find as much happiness as you have shared with all of us.”

“To Rose!” the others chorused, lifting their glasses. John’s gaze never left Rose’s as he sat, and she mouthed _I love you_ before sipping her wine. He smiled and ducked his head, still fidgeting with embarrassment. 

The pudding followed, and everyone migrated to the library for coffee and port. To Rose’s surprise, there were gifts for her on the side table. She chided everyone for bringing them, but they were simple and thoughtful, showing just a little bit of a fuss over her that she had to admit she enjoyed. Lady Jacqueline retired shortly thereafter, while Rose and her friends stayed up for an increasingly raucous game of cards. 

John was crowing about a particularly good hand when Rose saw Mr. Mott enter the library. “Sorry to interrupt, your ladyship, but there’s someone at the door.”

“At this hour?” She glanced at the clock on the mantle. “It’s after midnight. Who is it?”

“Sir James Stone, my lady. And he appears to have a bit of an entourage.”

Rose felt her cards bend in her fingers. “Send them away, and tell Sir James he may call at a more reasonable hour tomorrow.”

“I did suggest that, but he was rather belligerent, my lady.”

“I’ll tell him,” John said, throwing down his cards as he stood.

“I’ll go with you,” Vastra added, and Mickey stood too.

“Nonsense, you’ll stay right here, and Mr. Mott will tell Sir James good night and lock the doors,” Rose decided with a nod at the butler. Mr. Mott left the room and Rose sighed. “Honestly, I don’t need the two of you turning into neanderthals over this. He’s probably just drunk and carousing about the neighbourhood. Probably doesn’t even realise-”

Rose was interrupted by shouts from the hall and the library door flinging open. John, Mickey, and Vastra were back on their feet in a second as Sir James strode in. He was trailed by a few giggling partygoers as well as Mr. Mott.

“Lady Rose Tyler! Countess of Powell,” Sir James announced, speaking unreasonably loud. “What a pleasure it is to be in Bucknall House again.”

“What could you possibly want this late at night?” Rose asked coldly. 

“I came to wish you a _very_ happy birthday! I couldn’t _possibly_ let the day go unremarked upon, and neither could your friends!” He reached back and pulled Keisha and Shareen to either side of him, slinging his arms over their shoulders. 

The women said happy birthday to Rose as well. They were barely upright, leaning heavily on Sir James, and adjusting their skewed headbands and rumbled dresses in an effort to avoid Rose’s gaze. _So this is why they couldn’t make it to dinner,_ Rose thought, trying not to be upset about it.

“Thank you for thinking of me,” Rose said, getting up and striding around the card table. “Now, we were all just planning to go to bed. Let me show you out.”

“But I’ve not given you your present yet,” Sir James said, suddenly releasing Keisha and Shareen so he could grip Rose’s upper arms. She saw, out of the corner of her eye, her guests all standing with hands twitching at their sides, Martha keeping John from lunging at the unwanted visitor.

Rose glanced briefly at the offending appendages. “I’ll thank you to remove your hands from my person, Sir James,” she said evenly. He did so, backing off with exaggerated care. To everyone’s relief, Jack, Rory, and Ianto joined Mr. Mott by the doorway.

“My sincerest apologies,” Sir James drawled. “Here.” He reached into his jacket pocket and drew out a wide envelope. “I saw this and thought of you.”

“How nice.” Rose did not sound nice. She took the offering but did not open it. “If you’ll excuse us now, as I said, we were just about to turn in.” She nodded at Mr. Mott. 

At her cue, the butler came to show the group to the door, and when Sir James didn’t move, still staring at Rose, Jack took him by the elbow. Sir James jerked away but complied. Ianto trailed behind him and Jack, just in case, while Mr. Mott and Rory ushered Shareen, Keisha, and the others away. Her old friends looked sheepish and muttered apologies as they were herded out. Rose held her position until they were all gone, and even then she only closed her eyes and sighed. Her friends swarmed her.

“Rose? Are you all right?” It was Martha at her side, while John strode to the hall to make sure the interlopers were truly gone.

“I’m fine,” she said, composing herself. “It wouldn’t be a Tyler party without some sort of interruption, would it?” She pasted on a smile.

“I’ve half a mind to come barging in to _his_ house tomorrow morning, while he’s nursing a hangover,” Mickey said.

John came back, confirming that they were gone. “I’m so sorry, Rose. I wanted to stop him-

 

“None of that,” she snapped. “I’d rather deal with this on my birthday than a fight.”

“What did he give you?” Jenny asked. 

Rose held up the envelope like she was seeing it for the first time. “I don’t even care. I’ll look at it tomorrow, if at all,” she said. “Thank you so much for joining me tonight, but I’m afraid I’d rather like to go to bed. You’re welcome to stay as long as you like.” She hugged everyone good night and retreated.

“You going after her, mate?” Mickey asked John.

He shook his head. “Not just yet. I expect she’ll want a few moments to herself.” He tried filling in as host, offering more coffee and wine, but nobody seemed quite in the mood anymore. Mickey and Martha called for their driver and headed home, and John, Jenny, and Vastra trudged upstairs. 

I won’t be surprised if there are more problems in that envelope,” Vastra said before they parted ways in the upstairs hall. 

“Me neither,” John said. “I’m _hoping_ it’s just Sir James being an ass, but…”

“You know where to find us,” Jenny said. “Good night, John.”

***

John crept to Rose’s room once he was ready for bed. Earlier that day he’d been hoping that this would be a romantic visit, but the mood seemed ruined. Unless she wanted him to take her mind off things. He’d have to tread cautiously.

He knocked gently before letting himself in. Rose was already in bed, turned away from the door. John caught sight of the envelope sitting on the nightstand, a few photographs poking out from underneath it. Gently sliding it aside, he felt his stomach churn. The pictures were dark, but the location and subjects were far too familiar - Harold Saxon, pressing John against a wall and their lips together. 

John realigned the papers and calmed himself down. They’d talk about it in the morning, he supposed, and he climbed into bed. Rose didn’t move when he joined her under the covers, so he assumed she was asleep and curled around her, drawing their bodies against each other so he could feel her torso expand and contract as she breathed. He closed his eyes, and let the rhythm lull him to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For an idea of Rose's tiara, look up the Rosebery Primrose tiara, and imagine something that lies a little more flat to her hair, and lots of sparklies.


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wedding! I love weddings! Drinks all around!

Rose felt the warmth next to her upon waking and knew that John had waited for her. She heard the soft _snick_ of pages turning near her head, slowly, as if he needed to make that quiet sound even smaller to avoid waking her up. She rolled over and rested a hand on his thigh, gazing up at him as he leaned against her headboard. “Morning.”

“Good morning,” he murmured, putting aside the novel he’d found in favour of stroking her hair. “Did you sleep well?”

“Not really,” Rose admitted.

“Nor did I,” he sighed. “Rose, I- I mean, we- we should probably talk.”

“I know.” She stretched and sat up. “After breakfast? We should be there with Jenny and Vastra.”

Seeming a bit distracted, John nodded. “Yeah, of course. See you downstairs.”

Before he could get out of bed, Rose grabbed his arm and pulled him back for a kiss, gently cupping his cheek. “I love you.”

John smiled a little. “Love you too.”

Once the door shut, Rose took a moment to flop back on her pillows with a groan before ringing for Gwen. She very much hoped he wouldn’t try to run again - he’d suggested a conversation himself, which did bode well, but who knew what he’d talk himself into between here and breakfast? She got out of bed and gathered the photographs together, stashing them in a drawer before Gwen came in.

If her maid noticed that she wasn’t as talkative this morning, she didn’t comment. It was clear that John had seen the pictures, but how far in the stack had he gone? Unfortunately the worst of the lot were at the top, and John’s confused and surprised face in those shots were stuck in Rose’s mind. 

It was a lovely day, and Jenny and Vastra expressed interest in exploring the grounds. Making work-related excuses for herself and John, Rose promised they would spend some time together in the afternoon. 

“What did Sir James give you?” Vastra asked, pointedly waiting until Lady Jacqueline and Anthony had left.

“I don’t know yet,” Rose said. Until she spoke to John, it was really only half a lie. “Probably just some nonsense. I’ll let you know if it’s anything we need help with.”

She directed John back to her room once the meal was finally over. “I’m sorry,” she said, once they were alone.

John was bewildered. “For what?”

“For what Saxon put you through,” Rose answered. “I wish you’d told me.”

John remained perplexed. “I… kinda just wanted to forget it ever happened. I had no idea we were being photographed.”

“Even in your lab?”

He frowned. “My lab?”

So he hadn’t looked through them all. Rose crossed the room and retrieved the full set of photos. “I suppose you only saw the one, but it looks like someone was watching you the entire time you were at Vitex.” She sat John down with her on the bench at the foot of her bed, and showed him the full set of pictures. There was John in his lab on a number of occasions, both with and without Saxon; John on the factory floor; John sitting uncomfortably on a sofa, surrounded by strangers, while Saxon held court next to him.

“This was from my first week there,” John said, pointing at the last one. “He kept taking me out to clubs, showing me off like a prize pony.” He looked at the next one from that night, where Saxon was practically sprawled on John’s lap. “There was a lot of this, actually. We wouldn’t get back until three, four in the morning, and then I still had to work the next day like nothing had happened.”

“No wonder you’ve felt so awful,” Rose said. “But I don’t understand - what was he trying to do? Why did he kiss you?”

John visibly shuddered. “Some delusion, I think. He’s stuck in the past, even as he’s trying to control the future. I told him, so many times - Rose, you must know,” he said, taking her hands. “None of that was consensual. Saxon thinks he can make things just like when we were younger, but he can’t. _You’re_ my present, my future.”

“I know, John,” she said. “I’m not threatened by Saxon. But I want to understand, what _were_ things like when you were younger?”

“We were, ah, romantically involved, for about six months before our parents died,” he said. “Well, sort of, when I say ‘romantically,’ that was really only sometimes, the rest of the time it was pretty much just, ehm, physical. It continued after we left Gallifrey, but it got to a point where we stayed together only out of familiarity. At least I did. It stopped meaning much more than that well before we parted ways.” He took a deep breath, pulling at his ear. “I suppose I loved him once, but we grew up, we changed. He was always a bit dangerous, but then…” John shook his head. “Well, there’s a whole other story there, but I struck out on my own, and I’m finding out that he’s carried a torch this whole time.”

Rose pushed the pictures aside and pulled John into a hug. “Thank you for telling me about it. It helps me understand what you’ve been through, though only Saxon could explain why he had you watched.”

“Power, most likely. So he could pull stunts like this.” He nudged the photos, which had fallen to the floor, with his toe. 

“But he has to know, it’s not all that threatening,” Rose said. “You and I have been through enough not to be thrown by it, and anyone can see you’re not a willing participant.”

“Then I suppose he just wants me to know I’m being watched,” John said, leaning down to pick up one more photo. “Even when I’m not near him.”

In the shuffle, they hadn’t really noticed this one - it was taken through the window of John’s workshop at Bucknall.

Rose stood and whipped her curtains closed. “He sent someone _here_?”

“That’s hardly surprising,” John said. “And I doubt they can see in here, Rose.” He crossed the room and wrapped his arms around her from behind. “We’re on the second floor, and there are no trees outside your window.”

“Right. But still, someone’s prowling the grounds of our _home_. Who’s to say they’re only spying on you and your workshop?”

“I know. I’m not saying not to worry,” John said. He kissed her temple. “We’ll get a patrol of the grounds together.”

“I want you to have someone with you when you’re at the workshop,” Rose said, turning in his arms. “Ianto or Jack. I don’t want you down there alone.”

“Rose, there’s no indication that anyone’s trying to hurt me.”

She knew he was trying to comfort her, but that wasn’t the point. “We don’t know why they’re watching or what they think they’ll see. Bring someone. And change up your routine.” He still looked skeptical. “Please? It would make me feel better.”

“Okay,” he relented. “For you. What do you want to do with those?”

“Burn them,” Rose said, surprising herself with her decisiveness, but choosing not to move just yet. She snuggled in close, arms around John’s waist, and he rested his cheek on her hair. “Once we show them to Jenny and Vastra.”

“Good plan.” He rubbed circles on her back. “I never thought I’d be _relieved_ that I was being surveilled on more than one occasion. When I saw… well.”

“John, just look at your face in those pictures,” Rose said. “That is _not_ the look of someone enjoying being kissed. You in particular.”

“And how would you know? Have you been keeping your eyes open?” he teased.

“Maybe,” she teased back. “Plus there’s that really goofy smile you have when we pull away that I love so much. I see that as soon as I open my eyes.”

“Are you sure? Maybe you should kiss me and check for sure.”

“Maybe I should.” She reached up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his, winding her arms around his neck. John answered eagerly, encouraging her mouth open, inviting her tongue in. Rose took a peek with one eye open and broke off, barely holding back a giggle. “Yup, I’m right. That’s the look, and there’s the goofy smile.”

John laughed and kissed her again. “You know, last night I had intended to bring you up here and make love to you however you wanted. It was part of your birthday present.”

“Well, I have nothing against belated gifts,” she said. “And I _have_ already drawn the curtains.” 

“Then Rose Tyler,” he said, releasing her only to bow with a flourish, “your wish is my command.”

Rose smiled wickedly, tongue between her teeth, and pushed John back onto the bed. “Sounds like it’ll have been worth the wait.”

***

Rose was unable to burn the photographs, as Jenny and Vastra quickly confiscated them for further analysis back in the City. They promised to find out all they could, hoping the photos themselves could reveal some clues to their maker. A sweep of the grounds, unfortunately, turned up nothing, and as Jenny and Vastra headed home, Rose pushed the unease from her mind in order to focus on her friends’ upcoming nuptials.

Martha had expressed to Rose some trepidation at the thought of her family coming to Bucknall for her wedding. Of particular concern was her mother.

“They’re city people,” she said, sipping her tea with Rose, John, Mickey, and Lady Jacqueline. “They’re all professionals, very well educated, very particular. It’s hard to impress them.”

“But Martha, you’re a _doctor_ ,” John said.

“Not yet,” she demurred.

“Well, we think you’re _very_ impressive,” Lady Jacqueline said.

“Thank you,” Martha replied. “I’m concerned less about my career and more about, well, _Bucknall_. They aren’t at all that interested in nature, or riding, or shooting, or cars. Well, maybe cars. Mum is having enough trouble accepting that she’s not hosting the wedding herself as it is. I just want them to see where I’ve chosen to make my life.”

Mickey squeezed her hand. “It’ll be all right. They’re only here for a few days.”

“And Bucknall can be quite a persuasive place,” Rose declared. “Mum didn’t like it here at first either. Said it was drafty.”

Lady Jacqueline huffed. “That was more from your grandmother’s chill than any problems with the House. I suppose we can take them into Henrik if they get _desperately_ bored.”

“Don’t put yourself out, I just wanted to warn you,” Martha insisted. “Try not to take anything Mum says personally, you know?”

The cars pulled up shortly thereafter, and the group gathered outside to greet Martha’s family. Hugs and handshakes were exchanged while the staff unloaded luggage. Martha’s siblings, Letitia and Leo, and Leo’s wife Shonara, were warm and talkative, making easy conversation and complimenting the beautiful countryside. Their mother Francine, however, was much more reserved, making an offhand comment about how nice Bucknall House’s architecture was and arching an eyebrow when informed that Donna would be available to her as a lady’s maid. 

“I doubt she’ll use her much,” Martha whispered to Rose. “She finds the idea of someone helping her dress to be rather ridiculous.”

“Fair enough,” Rose said. By now everyone was in the Great Hall, with Lady Jacqueline explaining where everything was and inviting everyone for luncheon once they’d settled in.

“Mum,” Martha said, “where’s Dad?”

Francine sighed. “Your father is on the later train, as far as I’m aware. It left an hour after ours. Now, I do believe I’d like to unpack. Letitia, Shonara?” She headed towards the stairs, where Donna was ready to lead the way. 

“Wait - you’re not sure?” Martha’s gaze flickered between her mother and her siblings. Letitia gave Leo a pointed look before following her mother and sister-in-law. 

“Lady Powell, might there be a room where I could have a word with my sister privately?” Leo asked.

“What’s going on?” Martha protested.

“There’s a sitting room here,” Rose said, opening the door. “Ianto will see you up when you’re ready.” She shut it behind them and faced John, Mickey and Lady Jacqueline. 

“That can’t be good,” John murmured as Rose ushered them back to the library. Mickey chose to wait for Martha in the hall.

“Jack,” Lady Jacqueline said, calling the footman over. In a hushed voice, she said, “I suspect we’ll be needing a separate room for Mr. Jones. Would you see that the Cambridge is prepared?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Mum?” 

Lady Jacqueline worried her hands. “Rose, if there was ever a woman who’s decided to get a divorce, Mrs. Jones is it.”

“And she must not have told Martha yet,” Rose murmured. “Oh no.” 

“The poor girl,” Lady Jacqueline tutted. “You mustn’t let her dwell on it. If they’re worth anything as parents, they’ll behave for their own daughter’s wedding. If not, it’s our job to distract her, and keep the dramatics to a minimum.”

The idea of Lady Jacqueline minimizing drama nearly made John snort with laughter, but he contained himself. “Of course. We’ll do our best.”

After Leo left Martha and went upstairs, Mickey went into the sitting room and the others waited for her to compose herself and freshen up. By the time she returned, apologising profusely, her father was pulling up to the House.

Clive Jones was bursting with excitement for Martha and the wedding. He out-talked even John, thrilled to be in Bucknall and to meet the Tyler family. He had arrived so close to luncheon that he didn’t bother going up to change, much to the staff’s collective relief, since they didn’t know what guest room to put his belongings in. Rose sighed when Jack asked.

“Put them with Mrs. Jones for now, Mum’s just speculating,” she murmured. “We’ll let you know if anything changes.”

Luncheon was a lively affair, and even Mrs. Jones joined in on the chatter. Rose and John both noticed, though, that she and Mr. Jones never spoke directly to each other, even when participating in the same discussion. It was civil enough, but still, it seemed like a good idea that Mr. and Mrs. Jones were off on different activities for the afternoon. Martha and Rose were driving out to the Cheems’ to see to the flowers, and the rest of the ladies went along. They laughed at their mothers’ surprised reactions to Rose getting behind the wheel of one of the cars, as John reassured them that he’d taught her himself and that she was an excellent driver.

“That gives me _less_ confidence, John, I’ve driven with you before!” Lady Jacqueline teased, and they were off.

John and Mickey took Mr. Jones and Leo to Mickey’s dealership, where the Joneses proved more interested in the cars than Martha had predicted. John hung back, letting Mickey show his future in-laws around. He peered into the open bonnet of a nearby vehicle, inspecting the engine and running through several thoughts on how to improve it. Mickey stopped him before he could start looking for a toolbox. 

“No ‘upgrades,’ John,” he laughed. “Send your ideas to the manufacturer.” John just winked in response.

“What is it you do, John?” Leo asked. “You were introduced as the agent.”

“Erm, yes. A lot of things, actually,” he said, tugging at his ear. “Officially I’m the agent and trustee; I work with Lady Powell to manage the estate, dealing with tenants and maintaining the house and lands.”

“And unofficially?”

“I do a little bit of everything, just helping out friends where I can. I’ve got experience in mechanics and construction, so I still do that,” he said, carefully avoiding any details. “Working on the estate, though, that’s how I met Mickey.”

“Lady Powell and I have been friends since we were children,” Mickey added. “She introduced me to Martha, too.”

“Will she be playing matchmaker for you next, John?” Mr. Jones asked. They laughed, but John couldn’t help but turn red and look sheepishly at the floor. “Or is she keeping you for herself?”

“She is,” John admitted. “Lord knows why, I’m not the easiest choice for her.”

“Aw, don’t sell yourself short, son,” Mr. Jones said. “She must think you’re worth it.”

“Will you two be next at the altar, then?” Leo asked.

“Erm, well, there’s a bit more to it, unfortunately, and I don’t know-”

“There are some social boundaries to be worked out, as you can probably guess,” Mickey interrupted. “John and Rose have been keeping things quiet because of them.” He finished with a very pointed look at Leo and Mr. Jones, for which John was grateful.

Leo and Mr. Jones nodded. “Well, good luck,” Mr. Jones said. “If you can figure that out, you’ll be golden. It’s not easy.”  
Leo snorted. “Yeah, you would know.”

“Leo…”

“What? I hardly think you’re one to be giving out relationship advice.”

“Look, your mother and I-”

“Didn’t tell Martha that you’re getting divorced and then arrived separately to her _wedding_ ,” Leo snapped. “ _I_ had to explain it, and now we have to spend the whole weekend like this!”

As father and son argued, John and Mickey glanced at each other worriedly. Mickey jerked his head in the direction of his office and John nodded, following him in.

“Thank goodness you’re closed today,” John said.

“Yeah,” Mickey sighed, going to his sideboard and pouring them both drinks. “Martha was not kidding about her family being intense, to say the least. I’m not entirely surprised by this, but I would have expected them to time things better.”

“Was Martha okay after Leo told her?”

“She’s upset, but more about being the last to know than about the divorce itself,” he said. “She’s not sure if talking it out before the wedding will make things easier or worse. It could go either way, I suppose.”

“I’m sorry, Mickey,” John said. “You two shouldn’t have to deal with this.”

“Thanks. Just a few more days though, then we’re off on honeymoon.”

The Jones men, having apparently concluded their argument with reasonable satisfaction, found Mickey and John in the office. No matter the smiles they put on, John couldn’t shake the tension that no bristled between the other men. After a bit more of a chat and a short stroll in the village, they returned to the House.

***

Rose immediately excused herself to her study once she got home. Once Mrs. Jones settled down at bit, she and Lady Jacqueline had gotten on quite well. And Rose liked Letitia and Shonara. But at some point while examining bouquets and arrangements with Jabe Cheem, communication between Mrs. Jones and Martha broke down. Perhaps it was one too many critical remarks about Martha’s choices (of flowers, of husband, of location, of career…), some more veiled than others, from her mother, but soon Martha’s own sharp tongue was on display. Rose was very glad they’d needed to take two cars, as she doubted her ability to drive safely if mother and daughter were fighting in her back seat.

The men weren’t home yet, and the ladies scattered for various pursuits before dinner. Martha had quickly retreated upstairs (“Before I say anything stupid,” she’d said in the car), and Rose trusted her mother to continue playing hostess. The study was quiet, afternoon light filtering in, as Rose wrote cheques and reviewed committee notes. She had to set a number of things aside for John to approve, and glared at the ever-increasing pile.

She smiled tightly as John entered the room. He didn’t hesitate to come around to her side of the desk, wrap his arms around her and kiss her cheek, resting his chin on her shoulder. “The Countess, hard at work,” he remarked.

Rose bit back a laugh, reaching up to cover John’s hand with her own. “The Countess still needs the almighty Trustee to sign the cheques,” she said. “Big stack for you there.”

John hummed his acknowledgement but only moved to nuzzle her neck and press his lips to the skin behind her ear. “Anything else?”

“Not really,” Rose sighed, tilting her head to better enjoy John’s attentions. “I haven’t been looking at anything important, there’ just too much going on for me to focus.”

“I hear you. Your mum was right, Martha’s parents _are_ divorcing.”

“I know. I heard _all_ about it while we were out. Martha really let her mother have it for not saying anything.”

“Leo did the same with their dad,” John said. “Is Martha okay?”

“She’s cooling off,” Rose answered. “I was planning to check on her once I finished up here, but I realised I couldn’t really focus. Then I started thinking about this stupid trusteeship and now I’m just annoyed. I _could_ be finished with most of this, but I have to wait for you. It’s ridiculous.”

“I know.” John released her and stood up straight, stretching out from the odd angle he’d been standing in. He paced around the desk, running his hand through his hair before turning and leaning on the back of the armchair across from Rose. “You know I love you, right?”

“Of course,” she said, a little surprised. 

“More than anything.”

“Yes,” Rose said, wondering where he was going with this.

“And that I really, very much would like to marry you, and would do it in a heartbeat if I could?”

Rose nodded, biting her lower lip. John’s eyes were wide and shining, his knuckles white as he gripped the back of the chair. 

“It’s probably just the occasion, making me all sentimental, but I needed to make sure,” he said. “And I want you to know, I’ve got a ring, and the _second_ all of this nonsense I’m in is sorted, it’s yours.” Suddenly, he smiled cheekily. “Then I’m never signing another cheque for you you again.”

Rose had to laugh, dashing away the few tears that had gathered in her eyes. “When did you find time to buy a ring?”

“I’ll tell you all about it when I give it to you,” he teased. Rose rounded her desk and pulled John down into a kiss; long, lingering, and sweet. 

“I look forward to signing my own cheques,” she said, and leaned into his chest. She let him hold her for a few moments before pulling away. “Almost time to get ready for dinner. I’m going to check on Martha.” She kissed him one more time. “And I love you too.”

John grinned. She knew he’d never tire of hearing it - which was good, because she wouldn’t tire of saying it.

***

Over the course of the weekend, Martha and her parents were able to arrive at some sort of truce. She was still upset with them, but they had apologised and everyone agreed to focus on the reason they’d all gathered.

Monday morning was brilliantly sunny, and Rose accompanied Mrs. Jones, Letitia, and Shonara to bring Martha breakfast in bed. She only stayed a little while though, leaving to allow Martha time with her family and finish some of her duties as maid of honour.

She ran into John as he was leaving the breakfast table, on his way to Mickey’s house to get ready there. “See you at the church,” he said, kissing her cheek and grabbing one more piece of toast as he dashed off. 

The day went without a hitch. Martha’s father teared up when she came down the stairs in the Great Hall, and they were off to the church for a short and sweet ceremony. Rose caught John staring at her from across the altar, so distracted that he didn’t hear the vicar ask for the ring the first time. The guests laughed as he realised everyone was looking at him and jumped a little, then muttered something to himself and fumbled in his pocket for the ring. Martha and Mickey kissed and everyone cheered, then filed out behind the newlyweds into the warm spring air. 

“You look amazing,” John murmured as they followed Mickey and Martha to the cars.

“Is that why you missed your cue?” Rose teased. John just grinned and reached across himself to grip the hand Rose had tucked in the crook of his arm. 

Back at the House, they held a small but lively reception, with cocktails on the terrace and dancing in the Great Hall, until night fell and it was time for Martha and Mickey to head out on their honeymoon. Martha tossed her bouquet from the stairs and one of her young cousins caught it, then there were kisses and handshakes all around as they made their way out. 

“That’ll be us one day soon,” Rose declared as they watched their friends drive away. She leaned against John, his arm around her waist.

“I hope so,” John said.

“I know so,” she insisted. “No pressure though, since I didn’t catch the bouquet.”

John leaned over and kissed her hair, chuckling and squeezing her a little tighter. Rose would keep being the confident one, as long as she could. It would be harder now without the wedding to distract her, but she was a fighter. They both were. She would not lose her home to some antiquated rule, and she would not let John lose his happiness to his past, and she would not let herself be bogged down by photographs and crooked businessmen or anything else. 

Most of the guests were leaving as well. “Come on,” she said. “Mott will see that everything’s locked up. Let’s go to bed.”


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A houseguest brings Rose and John to a party with more than they bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a physical fight once John gets upstairs. 
> 
> Points to anyone who catches the Friday Night Lights reference.

After the wedding, all of Martha’s family went home, save for her sister Letitia. She’d hit it off with some of Martha’s local friends, and Rose was happy to let her stay at Bucknall House a while longer. She’d enjoyed having everyone around once the family drama had subsided, and resolved to invite Martha and Mickey over more often once they returned from their honeymoon, and to try to reconnect with some other people.

Rose did have mixed feelings, though, about Letitia taking up with Shareen and Keisha in particular. She’d never been quite comfortable with her old friends since they’d started spending so much time with Sir James, and especially after the incident on her birthday. Martha had even been unsure about inviting them to the wedding, but did in the end, and by that point it was too late to tell them no. Thankfully they’d not acted like the reception was one of their Peckham Hall parties - for the day, it was almost like they were in college again, but with fewer shenanigans. But when the other girls joined Rose and Letitia for tea a few days later, Rose began to worry again.

“Sir James is throwing a _huge_ party on Saturday, you _must_ come,” Shareen gushed. 

“Oh? What’s the occasion?” asked Rose.

“Not like he needs one, _but_ he’s invited this amazing illusionist, Richard Lazarus,” Keisha said. “Have you heard of him? He’s all the rage in the City. I can’t believe he’s going to be here!”

“I’ve read about him!” Letitia said. “He’s an absolute genius.”

“I’m afraid I’m unfamiliar with his act,” Rose said.

“He has this trick-” Shareen started.

“ _Illusion_ ,” Keisha corrected.

“This _illusion_ , where he turns himself from old, to young, to old again,” she finished. “And he can make it look like he’s transformed into an enormous, hideous beast, the most _frightful_ thing.”

“That’s just the most famous one,” Keisha said. “Tish, say you’ll come.”

“Of course! Rose, you’ll come too, won’t you?”

“And bring Mr. Smith, and your mum,” Shareen said. “You’ll all _love_ it.”

“I don’t know, Mum didn’t do so well last time we were there,” said Rose.

“She’ll be _fine_. At least invite her. And you’re definitely coming,” Shareen decided.

Rose smiled noncommittally and sipped her tea. Shareen had this way of making people feel that they absolutely had to agree with whatever she was suggesting, and even after all that had happened in the past year, Rose still felt its effects no matter how she deflected. “I’ll speak to her and Mr. Smith about it then.”

***

John, it turned out, was well aware of Richard Lazarus, and even had several theories about how he achieved his most famous illusions.

“I didn’t take you for a fan of magic shows,” Rose said.

“It’s hardly magic, Rose,” he said. They were in his workshop, studying maps of the estate for potential farm and village developments. “Science, all of it. He’s able to manipulate the material world in order to make his audience see something not really there. It’s all rather fascinating.”

“But you don’t want to go,” Rose said.

John scowled. “Perhaps if it wasn’t at Peckham Hall, I’d be a little more enthusiastic. It pains me that Lazarus seems to have Sir James as a patron. He could do so much better.”

“I hear a ‘but’ in there somewhere.”

Groaning, John admitted it. “It’s a rare opportunity to see him up close, maybe even talk to him.”

“You want to find out his secrets,” Rose teased.

“I want to discuss his work as a fellow scientist,” John insisted, adjusting his tie to emphasise his seriousness. “And if he _happens_ to give something away…”

Rose laughed and kissed him. “Fine. We’ll go. But behave yourself.”

***

Lady Jacqueline claimed to be under the weather on Saturday, though Rose knew she was really bowing out because she didn’t want to go near Peckham Hall ever again. When Rose, John, and Letitia arrived, the house was stuffed to the gills and drowning in alcohol as usual, but this time a section of the ballroom was cordoned off with gold braid, which guarded a temporary stage shrouded in red velvet curtains.

Shareen and Keisha were already there, and went about introducing a number of people who evidently attended all of Sir James’s parties. Rose and John could barely keep track of them all, but there seemed to be both praise and gossip attached to each one.

Letitia was swept up in the atmosphere and the crowd, enthralled by the lush decor, extravagantly dressed guests, and the never-ending parade of canapes. When Sir James found out she’d never been to a party like this, he immediately put his arm around her shoulders and personally escorted her around the room, showing everything off. John wanted to follow her, but Rose stopped him. 

“Let her go, we can just keep an eye out,” she said. “I want to go dance.”

“What?” John sputtered. “Dance?”

Rose was already pulling him towards the band. “Yes, dance. We’ve done that before, remember?” Even with her teasing, John still moved easily into position, settling his free hand on Rose’s waist. “The world won’t end, John.”

“‘Course it won’t,” he scoffed as they began moving to the music. “I’m just not entirely comfortable being here, that’s all.”

“Neither am I,” Rose said. “Did you see the look on Sir James’s face when we said hello?”

“You’d think he’d been told that all his investments had gone under,” John said. “I was clearly the last person he expected to see.”

“I’m sure Saxon will be disappointed to hear that I’ve kept you around.”

“I’m a bad penny. You’re stuck with me.”

“That’s not so bad.”

John gazed down at Rose’s face, with its gentle smile that lit up her eyes and made his stomach swoop. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

He’d have kissed her rather dramatically right then, were they not in public. Instead, as the song ended he gave Rose a twirl, sending her into giggles as they turned to face the stage where Sir James was now calling for the crowd’s attention.

“Ladies and gentlemen! I’d like to thank all of you for joining me tonight. You’re in for an incredible show!” He paused for the applause that ensued, waving a hand for everyone to be quiet. “I’m very proud to announce that this man is the newest member of Torchwood’s NHA family.” More applause. “We’re looking forward to working together to bring his amazing feats to audiences around the world. Please join me in welcoming the one and only Richard Lazarus!”

As everyone clapped, Rose leaned over to John and asked, “Have you heard of NHA?”

John shook his head. “Just that it’s Torchwood’s entertainment division. As if it didn’t have its fingers in enough pots already.” The lights dimmed, save for a spotlight on the stage.

“Is Saxon involved?”

“Probably,” John sighed. “Financially at the very least.”

A stooped old man, leaning heavily on a cand, tottered onto the stage. He raised his free hand and the audience fell silent. From there he silently demonstrated a number of tricks, increasing in complexity, that led to him collecting an impressive number of trinkets, cards, a bottle of champagne, and a live dove, that he placed on a small table. 

Eventually he sought out a volunteer from the audience. John and Rose were startled but cheered with everyone else when he selected Letitia. She stood awkwardly on stage, as Lazarus pulled back half of the red curtain. She verified that nothing was behind it, and as Lazarus held the fabric aside, she wheeled the little table into the empty space as directed. Lazarus let the curtain swish back into place and banged his cane on the floor three times. When he pulled back the curtain again, the table had been replaced by a tall, cylindrical box, gleaming metal and flashing lights. 

“Is this where the science comes in?” Rose murmured. Thus far she had been less than impressed - her friends had set her expectations rather high.

John didn’t get a chance to reply. Lazarus stepped into the box, and slid the door panel shut. It rotated slowly on its stand three times before the door slid back open. Out stepped a young, but familiar man - Lazarus, transformed. The room exploded in applause as he tossed his cane to Letitia and took several bows. Sir James bounded back on stage to shake Lazarus’s hand and announce an intermission. Rose turned to John with her eyebrows raised.

“Oh come on, Rose! Did you miss the thing with the fire? And the one with the snake?”

“I saw them,” she said. “But it was all rather pedestrian, wasn’t it? And how do we know this isn’t some father-son duo of charlatans? They probably just switched places.”

John was still trying to defend himself as Letitia found them, gushing about being chosen as a volunteer. She brought John and Rose over to meet Lazarus, and John eventually convinced the illusionist to allow him to inspect the magic box. While Rose and Letitia watched in amusement, Sir James approached them.

“I didn’t think you’d be interested in magic, Lady Powell,” he said.

“Miss Jones here is, and she has been our guest this week. And Mr. Smith was rather eager as well,” Rose said. “I was unaware you’d gotten into the entertainment business.”

James shoved his hands in his pockets. “It’s a recent change. I was asked to head up this new division at Torchwood, and I found it impossible to say no.”

Rose found his answer a little strange, but didn’t mention it. “Well, best of luck in your new endeavours.”

“Indeed.” He scratched at his nose and his eyes darted around the room. He shifted, angling his body close to Rose. “Did you have a chance to look at my birthday present?” he asked quietly.

Rose arched an eyebrow. “I did. I appreciate you informing me that a spy has been following Mr. Smith. We’ve been able to take swift action to protect our security.”

James reddened, seemingly unsure of how to respond. “Glad I could help,” he managed. “If anything else comes across my desk, I’ll let you know.”

“Thank you, Sir James,” she said.

The band struck up a lively tune and several guests brushed by them, knocking Rose and James into each other. There was a flurry of apologies as everyone righted themselves, but James collared one young man and wouldn’t let him leave.

“Watch where you’re going,” he snarled in the man’s face. 

“Get off,” he said, wrenching away. 

“I do hope you aren’t causing any trouble here.”

“Not as long as you stay out of my way.”

Sir James watched the man stalk off and turned back to a rather shocked Rose. He simply made his apologies and excused himself to see to the rest of the party.

“What did _he_ want?”

Rose nearly jumped out of her skin. “John! You startled me.”

“Sorry.”

“He asked about my birthday gift.” John frowned; Rose shot him an _I’ll tell you later_ look.

John hadn’t been able to pry much information out of Lazarus, but enjoyed speaking to him nonetheless. They danced to a few more songs before the next act, which only fuelled John’s curiosities. He moved much closer to the front, hoping it might give him a better look at things. Rose stayed to the side, nursing a cocktail and surveying the room, when a young woman approached her.

“Lady Powell?”

“Yes?”

“I don’t know if you remember me, I’m Lynda Moss.”

“Miss Moss! Yes, you were Sir James’s dinner guest at Bucknall,” Rose said, recalling the sweet girl with heavy makeup, and what John had told her. “How are you?”

“I’m well, thank you. I need to tell John something, but he’s, well-” 

“Preoccupied? Yes, he’s finding this all rather fascinating.” They laughed. 

“That’s why I approached you. I know you and John are close,” Lynda said. She glanced over her shoulder and lowered her voice. “There’s a file with John’s name on it in Sir James’s study.”

Rose stifled her alarm, both at the information and the situation for Lynda that it implied. “Do you know what’s in it?”

Lynda shook her head. “I’ve not seen inside, and the writing on the outside is unfamiliar. But I saw it last night, it came as part of a packet from Torchwood.”

Rose took a few calming breaths. “Thank you for telling me. I’ll make sure John knows.”

“John’s a good man, and I know Torchwood usually means trouble,” she said. 

“You’ve got that right.”

“Also, I wanted to tell you that your program at the Versailles has been so wonderful. The new house is beautiful, and I’m working on finishing school.”

“That’s fantastic!” Rose said, hugging her. “But you’re still seeing Sir James? Is everything okay there?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m fine. This is my last visit with him, actually,” she said proudly. “Madame Poisson isn’t worried about his favour anymore.”

“Good,” Rose said. “If you need help while you’re here, anything at all, you telephone me at the House, okay? John and I will be there.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

“Just Rose, please. And thank _you_.” 

Lynda left, and Rose sought out John. She was growing tired of the party, and wanted to see how far along this act was. Lazarus had made himself an old man again and now there would be another break. Rose dragged John away from interrogating Lazarus again, finding a secluded corner where she would tell him what she’d learned. She’d have rather waited until they got home but Lynda’s information on top of what James said made things more urgent. 

“I get the sense that there’s more happening than even Sir James knows,” she said. “But I don’t think he’s as important to Torchwood as he wishes he was. He definitely seemed put out by being forced into NHA.”

“Must be nice to see him knocked down a peg.”

Rose laughed. “A little. But he _is_ hiding something in his office, Lynda saw it.”

“We should probably take a look around then.”

“And how are we going to manage that?”

John looked around. “Wait until the next act gets underway. Everyone’s attention will be on the stage, we can sneak up there.”

“And miss the show?” Rose said. 

“A sacrifice I’m willing to make,” he said mournfully. “You stay here and keep Sir James from following me.”

“No, I should go. Do you even know where his study is? I’ve been there.”

“It’d be easier for you to run interference, he’d never listen to me. Just give me directions.”

She sighed. “It’s right by the top of the main staircase. There’s a service stair just down that way,” she said, pointing to the back of the hall. “Be quick about it. In and out, no getting distracted.”

“Me? Distracted?”

“He has a lot of shiny things in this house, John,” she said. “Buys a lot of strange art for strange reasons. Stay focused.”

“Yes, ma’am.” John saluted mockingly. 

They rejoined everyone else as the final act began, waiting until Lazarus had the crowd’s attention before Rose confirmed that James wasn’t going anywhere and John could slip away. He found the servants’ staircase and hurried up, stealing down the upstairs corridor and peeking into rooms until he found Sir James’s study.

He flicked on a light and took in the room. It was a mess, with papers and detritus everywhere, but John figured he’d start with the desk. Finding nothing of interest on top, he moved to the drawers. It didn’t take long for him to find the file Lynda had described - a plain brown folder, with ‘John Smith’ printed in very neat block letters on the tab. He rifled through the rest of the drawer, hoping he might find anything else that Torchwood had sent, but a sound at the door made him freeze.

“I didn’t think you’d miss the grand finale,” Sir James said, leaning against the doorframe. “Unless there’s something of greater interest to you in my desk.”

John stood up straight and took a step back, circling the desk to keep it between them as James approached. “Oh, you know me. Always sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“Actually, I _don’t_ know you, John Smith,” James said, looking at the file in John’s hand, “but I’ve been learning a lot. You’ve got quite the history.”

“That’s all it is. History. My past isn’t important anymore.”

“Perhaps not to you,” James answered, staring him down, “and maybe not even to Lady Powell. But I’m quite certain there are others who would be _fascinated_ by who you _really_ are.”

John shook his head. “A year ago, I’d have agreed with you. But I’ve come to accept that none of that is who I am now.”

James laughed. “If only it was that easy to escape. Just change your name and run away. Someone can _always_ find you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of _course_ you don’t,” James drawled sarcastically. “A name like that, I’d have changed it too.”

John was more confused than ever. James was swaying on his feet even as he tried to pursue him. He had to get out. “I don’t want any more trouble. I just need to know why Torchwood is following me.”

“Too late for that,” James sneered. John realised he’d been backed into a corner, and the other man was closing in. “But maybe if you return that, I’ll go easier on you.”

This close he could see the red around James’s eyes and the jittering in his hands, and smell the alcohol on his breath. Before he could draw nearer, John darted to the side. James lunged after him and managed to grab John’s arm. He stumbled as he was yanked back, and doubled over from a blow to the gut. The file dropped to the floor, contents scattering, but John forced himself to concentrate on his defense. He was hauled upright by the back of his jacket and slammed into the wall, James’s face right up close.

“You know this would be satisfying even if I _hadn’t_ caught you stealing from me,” he hissed. “I _know_ you’re the reason Rose won’t marry me.”

John nearly burst out laughing. Instead he headbutted James as hard as he could, readying himself as James staggered back. “Rose won’t marry you because you’re a prat, and that’s all on you.” James came at him again, but John landed a solid right hook to his face.

They exchanged more blows, slipping on papers and toppling furniture. Someone’s fist went through a painting. John had experience inflicting violence, but his past subjects were usually tied up. And James, while shorter, was faster and more strongly built. One sweep to the knees and John was on his back on the floor, wind knocked out of his lungs, and blood dripping down his face. He managed one gasp of air before James was squeezing down on his throat. He was saying something but John was trying to pull his hands away, trying to breathe even just a little bit, when there was a _crack_ from above them. James’s hands went limp, and his body slumped to the side. Standing above him now, wielding the remnants of a rather large lamp, was Rose.

“John!” she cried, sinking to her knees to help him sit up. “Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” he wheezed, gingerly probing a cut on his cheek. “What happened downstairs?”

“Lazarus pulled off his trick and the place went wild. I lost track of Sir James.” She eyed his lifeless body. “I had to come check on you.”

“Good timing,” John coughed. Rose was gently prodding James’s leg. “Stop it,” he said, grabbing her hand.

“I think I killed him,” Rose whispered.

John crawled over and pressed his fingers to James’s neck. “No, you just knocked him out. He’ll have a hell of a goose egg in the morning.” He got up and began gathering the papers.

“He’s going to wake up and remember what happened.”

“He was high as a kite, rambling all sorts of nonsense. I doubt he’ll remember anything,” John said. He dug a handkerchief out of his pocket and tried to clean up his face. 

“Let’s go, we’ll fix you up at home,” Rose said. “Through the back so no one sees you like that.”

Rose went down through the front to tell Letitia she was leaving; her guest said she’d be staying with Shareen and Keisha a while longer. That was fine with Rose. She met John at the car and insisted she drive. Thankfully, nobody was up when they returned except Mr. Mott, who didn’t ask questions about John’s face. “Come downstairs, son, we’ll get you patched up.”

After he fetched a first aid kit, Rose thanked the butler and told him he could go to bed. She sat John down on a bench in the servants’ hall and set to work while he started flipping through the file.

“This has more pictures,” he said, holding the file open on his knees. “Older ones. _Much_ older ones.” He held one up and frowned. 

“Stop moving, I’ll get antiseptic in your eye,” Rose chided. “How old are you in that?”

“Sixteen,” John said. “This is outside the school in Gallifrey.”

“He’s been watching you for _nine years_?” Rose exclaimed.

John shook his head. “I don’t think Saxon is behind this. All these photos, these papers, they’re too organised. Saxon’s more chaotic.” He pulled out a set of forms. “These are vital records. My birth, my parents’ marriage…”

“Jonathan Cadon Smith, born to Sydney and Verity Smith at Gallifrey on the twenty-fourth of July, nineteen hundred, at eleven forty-seven p.m.,” Rose read. “I didn’t know that was your middle name.”

“It’s some old family name, always sounded funny to me. But we don’t have a lot of them to choose from - my brother got stuck with _Irving Braxiatel_. Works great with ‘Smith’.” He kept leafing through as Rose applied a plaster to his cheek. 

“Did you know your grandparents at all? Aunts or uncles?”

“No,” John said. “Grandparents died before I was born. My mum was an only child and my father’s brother, I think he got disowned when he was a young man. Nobody talked about him, I only learned he existed by eavesdropping, and didn’t get his name. I know our family’s been in Gallifrey for generations, but that’s about it. Mum and Dad never talked about their relatives much.”

Rose frowned as she studied her work and moved on to another scrape. “There weren’t any other folks who knew them?”

“There must have been, but I can’t remember any in particular. Why?”

“Seems odd, is all. I can’t have a conversation with anyone over the age of sixty without them mentioning my granddad,” Rose said. “Been worse since Dad died, now they reminisce about both of them.” She began putting away the first aid supplies. “Just seems like a small-town thing to do, especially with old families.”

“I suppose. I’ve never thought about it much, especially since I left. Being the last of my family isn’t the best thing to dwell on.”

Rose ran her fingers through John’s hair. “What about your brother?”

He leaned into her touch and closed his eyes. “Don’t know. Haven’t spoken to him in years. It’s not like he’d know where to find me, either.”

“You could write to him,” Rose suggested. “Unless you think he’s left Gallifrey too, but someone there probably knows where he is.”

John hummed vaguely and yawned. “You’re right.”

“Of course I am.” She bent down and kissed his forehead. “Let’s head to bed.”

In the hall upstairs they encountered Gwen, who was going to Rose’s room. “Mr. Mott said you were back, Lady Rose. Oh, John! What happened?”

“I was defending Rose’s honour.”

“With your face?” Gwen exclaimed in a whisper. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

“Fine, Gwen, thank you. I just need to sleep it off.” John headed to his room, and Rose let Gwen come in and help her change. 

“I thought I told you not to wait up.”

“I asked Mr. Mott to wake me when you came home,” she said, working at unpinning Rose’s hair. “I take it the party was eventful.”

“You know John, always finding his way into trouble,” Rose sighed. “Was Mum okay tonight?”

“Yes, she turned in early but was fine. And MIss Jones also returned home, just after you did.”

“Oh, good. I was worried Shareen and Keisha would keep her out all night.”

“It wasn’t too long ago that you would have been with them,” Gwen said gently.

“I know. It’s amazing what changes in a year.” Rose watched Gwen in the mirror as she finished braiding her hair. “Thanks Gwen. I can take it from here, I don’t want to keep you up any longer.”

“Good night, my lady.”

“Good night, Gwen.”

John would probably stay up all night with that file, Rose decided, and she was too tired to read it with him or wait for him to finish. She quickly changed into her nightgown and climbed into bed.


	40. Chapter 40

After a restless night of sleep, followed by a fretful breakfast, Rose finally learned Sir James’s fate. Letitia had mentioned that he’d not been around to see his guests off, which she thought rude. 

“It was rather a large party,” John offered. “He must have been preoccupied.”

But over the morning, word began to spread around the village, and was brought back to the House by Donna just before luncheon - Sir James had been attacked in his study, and was now confined to bed with a severe concussion and no memory of the previous night.

“Evidently he doesn’t even remember that he had a party,” Lady Jacqueline said, relaying what her maid had told her. “The poor dear.”

“So there’s no indication of who might have attacked him?” Rose asked.

“The police have been interviewing the guests - so I expect they’ll be paying you three a visit today - so hopefully something comes of that,” she said. “Clearly the man himself won’t be of any use.”

“We ought to send our best wishes for his recovery,” Letitia said.

Rose hummed her agreement, but locked eyes with John across the table. He’d explained his own injuries as the result of a fall in the dark after too much to drink, for which Lady Jacqueline had chided him. 

PC Davidson did indeed question Rose, John, and Letitia that afternoon. One at a time, they met with him in the sitting room.

“Are you and Sir James close, Lady Powell?” he asked.

“Not particularly,” she answered. “We grew up together, but I’m not terribly fond of him these days.”

“And why is that?”

“He’s become rather a scoundrel, prone to excess and unsavoury behaviours.” This was about as diplomatic as Rose felt she could get, so she tried to keep things short.

“I won’t disagree with you there,” PC Davidson chuckled. “Can you think of anyone who may wish to do him harm?”

“I’d imagine any number of his entourage may find a reason, if he behaves to them the way I’ve seen,” she said. “Actually… there was a young man he involved in an altercation last night.”

“Oh?”

“He pushed past Sir James as we were speaking, which Sir James took great offense to.” Rose felt bad casting suspicion on this stranger, but perhaps they wouldn’t find him. “They were quite harsh with each other.”

PC Davidson asked for a description, which Rose kept as vague as possible - easy to do when she’d hardly looked at the man - then confirmed what time she’d left the party. It would be a complicated investigation, Rose was sure - there were over one hundred guests, plus staff, at Peckham Hall that night, and it would be nearly impossible for the anyone to know exactly where everyone was throughout the party thanks to the drinks and the show. PC Davidson thanked Rose for her time, and as she was last to be interviewed, she showed him out. 

“Well, that’s something I never thought I’d ever have to do,” Letitia said. 

“I’m so sorry your visit has to end like this,” Rose said - Letitia would be heading home the day after next.

“Oh, not to worry,” she said. “I do hope Sir James recovers, but… well, he’s not exactly the nicest man, is he?”

Rose stifled a laugh. “What makes you say that?”

“He was quite rude to his staff, and anyone he seemed to think had slighted him,” she said. “And he took _so many_ different tablets last night. He said they were vitamins, even offered me some, but I turned him down. I saw a man slip them to him. How stupid does he think I am?”

Rose felt relief wash over her, especially when Letitia told her she’d shared this with PC Davidson as well. John had told her about Saxon when he’d taken similar substances - he almost never remembered what happened the night before, and if he did, it was hazy and unreliable. Even if his injury healed and he did remember some things, it would be unlikely that he’d remember enough to solidly point the finger at John and Rose.

***

In the spirit of neighbourliness, and not a little bit of guilt, Rose called on Sir James’s mother on Monday afternoon, bringing along some flowers and a tea cake from Mrs. Grant. Mrs. Stone was as kind as always, though clearly tired from tending to her son.

“Oh, thank you dear. It’s so lovely to see someone other than the police or the doctor,” she said. Did you want to say hello to Jimmy?”

“I’ll let him rest, it’s okay.”

“Probably for the best, he’s not too talkative at the moment.”

“I’m sorry you’re having to deal with all this,” Rose said.

Mrs. Stone sighed. “You know, it’s difficult, but I’m hoping this whole incident knocks some sense into him,” she said. “Oh dear, that was an unfortunate way of putting it. But you understand what I mean.”

“Yes, of course. Has he been having problems?”

“It’s that crowd he runs with. All those new-money businessmen, especially the ones from Torchwood,” Mrs. Stone explained, spitting the company’s name like a bad taste. “I don’t trust any of them, not a one. They’re only interest in Jimmy’s money, using it and him for their schemes and parties.” She shook her head. “When he was knighted, after his contributions to the King’s household, he said he’d make Peckham Hall the home we never had. His father’s work kept us from settling down, you see. But since he started with Torchwood, I’ve hardly seen the inside of this place at all.”

“I’d wondered about that. Where are you living?”

“In the manor down by the pond,” she said. “And I love it, and I’m grateful for it, but I grew up in Peckham Hall. Jimmy’s made it rather a mess, hasn’t he?”

Rose had forgotten that Peckham Hall came from Mrs. Stone’s side of the family. She looked around the parlour they were in and had to agree - since her visit last year, nearly every surface and corner was crammed with art, furniture, and other bits and pieces. Much of it was rather strange looking, and Rose said so. 

“He’ll go into the City, end up at an auction or a gallery, and come back with something terribly expensive or terribly ugly,” Mrs. Stone lamented. “Or both. Sometimes he barely remembers buying it.”

The whole thing was sad, Rose felt. Soon she said good-bye to Mrs. Stone and drove into the village. Planning for this year’s summer fete was already underway, and she had a meeting to get to, even if she’d be distracted through the whole thing.

***

Spring meant a lot more work on John’s plate, and he wasn’t able to examine Torchwood’s file on himself as thoroughly as he wanted. There were a few strange documents in there, but without context they didn’t make any sense. Context, he figured, would come from Torchwood itself, and making good on his work for Vitex was how he planned to get closer.

The company’s new formula was a success, and John had developed a way to extract more of the active ingredient from weed plant. Things were going well as long as John didn’t have to see Saxon or Rattigan. Most of the time he could send in some work or discuss it by telephone, but every so often he had to go into the City and deal with everything directly. 

This was one of those weeks. John needed to oversee the improvements to the assembly line he’d come up with. Saxon also wanted to bring him in on some meetings, which John dreaded. Mostly they were with investors or directors so he could explain the scientific side of things to them, but this meeting was much, much bigger, and far more alarming.

John arrived at Saxon’s townhouse to find the place full. Some of the people he recognised from Vitex, but everyone was impeccably dressed and buzzing with excitement. Lucy greeted him and brought him a drink. 

“Rather early for champagne, isn’t it?” John asked. “Are we celebrating something?”

“Oh, you’ll see,” Lucy said with a wink.

Lance Bennett and Joshua Naismith were there, along with a number of other business and political types. Saxon was milling about glad-handing, until a reporter and photographer arrived. After conferring with them, Saxon stepped up onto a stool and demanded attention with a clink of his signet ring against his glass. 

“Ladies! Gentlemen! Thank you for joining Lucy and I today. We have two very special announcements to make. First of all, Lucy has done me the honour of agreeing to be my wife.”

Everyone clapped, while Lucy, at Saxon’s side, smiled, blushed, and showed off an extravagant diamond ring. John’s stomach sank. Marrying Saxon would be terrible for Lucy. He wondered how she’d rationalised the decision to herself.

“Thank you. Secondly, I am officially announcing my candidacy in the next federal election.” More applause. “I’ll be running in the riding of Henrik-Powell, a wonderful community that I’ll be honoured to represent. I’d like to thank all of you for your support in the upcoming campaign.”

With that, and a knowing glance in John’s direction, Saxon raised his glass for a toast before he was mobbed by well-wishers. The election had just been called the day before, and while John had heard Saxon was interested in running for office, he didn’t imagine Saxon would actually do it, nevermind run against a sitting Prime Minister. But the look he gave John suggested his choice of riding had a lot to do with him and his eye on the Powell estate. Nervously, he downed his champagne and snuck out the door. He’d see Saxon again tomorrow and could talk to him about it then. In the meantime, Rose needed to know. He hurried back to Jenny and Vastra’s to ring Bucknall House. 

“John? Is everything all right?”

“I wanted to tell you this before you read it in the paper,” he said, “and perhaps you can call the Prime Minister. Saxon’s just announced he’s running against her in the election.”

“I know.”

“You do?”

“Donna’s mother mentioned it in her last letter,” Rose explained. “Mr. Bennett’s mother has been crowing about his position as campaign manager and Mrs. Noble still thinks Donna missed the boat with him.”

“Dodged a bullet would be more accurate,” John grumbled.

“Anyhow, Donna came and told me right away, which was good timing,” Rose continued. “Harriet Jones is holding a campaign meeting here tomorrow. I wasn’t planning on getting more involved, but…”

“Just let her know. You don’t have to do more if you’re not up to it.”

“I know, but I already felt obligated because of her relationship with our family. Now that Saxon’s involved it’s worse.” They both sighed, silently acknowledging each other’s frustration. “This is absurd,” Rose said. “Does he really think he stands a chance?”

“If I know Saxon, he’s already convinced himself of the inevitability of his success,” John said. “Personally, I think the amount of money I saw in that room is a big enough threat on its own.”

“We’ll just have to do our best,” Rose decided. “The election’s not for months, anything could happen.”

“Quite right. I’ve got to get back to work.”

“As do I. Good luck, John.”

“Thanks. I love you.”

“I love you too. Bye.”

“Bye.”

John hung up and pinched the bridge of his nose. Saxon running for office was bad enough, but did he have to do it in _Bucknall_?

***

It had to be in Bucknall because Saxon wanted to continue making life difficult for John. At least, that’s the impression John got at their meeting the following day. After the Vitex officials met, half of them left and a new set of men joined, and talk turned to the election. One topic was the demographics of the riding and how to appeal to them. Lance Bennett was leading the discussion, talking about the farming and jobs related to the estate, which got John’s hackles up. Nobody in service at Bucknall House would vote for Saxon even if John wasn’t around - his policies were conservative even for the most old-fashioned of them, and his party didn’t see much sense in helping the working class. If they dared ask him…

“Mr. Smith, what do _you_ think?”

John started. “About what?”

“What people in Bucknall are looking for in an MP.”

“Honesty. Strong advocacy for their interests,” he answered. Narrowing his eyes, he added, “A real connection with the area. They take a long time to warm up to outsiders.”

“You would know,” Bennett muttered.

“Yes, I would,” John snapped. “I only enjoy the place that I have because I worked hard to gain people’s trust over time. 

Bennett and a few of the others merely scratched a few notes down, frowning thoughtfully. John noticed that Saxon had barely taken his eyes off John since they’d sat down.

“Anything you want to ask, Harry?”

“It can wait,” Saxon answered, waving him off. 

John’s observations noted, the conversation moved to other things, and dragged on until John could fabricate some experiments he needed to attend to and excuse himself.

***

For her part, Harriet Jones was far too complacent about Saxon for Rose’s liking. News of his announcement was received with a pleasant “may the best candidate win” and little else. Rose didn’t get a chance to broach the subject again until the end of her campaign meeting.

“Madam, may I have a word?” Rose asked as the rest of the committee left the library. 

“Of course, Lady Powell,” the Prime MInister said.

“I want to discuss Mr. Saxon,” she said, rushing to continue when Harriet sighed. “Forgive me, but I think he deserves more consideration.”

“You believe he’s a viable candidate? He’s just a snake oil salesman.”

“I believe he’s a credible threat,” Rose said. “My agent, John Smith, has a history with the man that’s proven very troubling. Saxon has many associates in both legitimate businesses and criminal enterprises. It’s not pretty.”

“And you have proof of this?”

Rose hesitated. “Not that I’m at liberty to share myself,” she said. “But even without the criminal element, he has an enormous amount of money and charm at his disposal.”

Harriet frowned. “I see.”

“All I’m suggesting is that we don’t count him out,” Rose said. “We ought to take him as seriously as any other candidate, if not moreso.”

“We? I thought you said you’d be sitting out this campaign,” Harriet said, slowly grinning.

Rose smiled tightly. “I may have changed my mind. It’s an important year.”

“And your contributions will be very much appreciated,” she said. “Our party’s always had the Tyler family on board. It would have been a disappointing change in tradition.”

“I would still have offered an endorsement,” Rose reminded her. “And Mum still wants to hold a tea for you.”

“Which I appreciate, of course,” Harriet said. “But you’re the Countess now - rather earlier than we would have liked, of course - and you’re already gaining a lot of respect amongst the peerage.”

“I am?” Rose asked, a little bewildered.

“You most certainly are,” Harriet said. “First for handling the challenges of your estate’s regulations with such dignity, and then for managing your resources so well. Yours is the only noble family I’m aware of that isn’t in financial trouble.”

Rose blushed. “I’ve had a lot of help. And it hasn’t been easy.”

“Of course it hasn’t. But remember, all these great houses have help - agents, accountants, lawyers, trustees - but not all of them survive. Meanwhile, the Powell Estate is thriving, by all accounts,” she said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if some of those stodgy old men come asking you for advice sooner rather than later.”

“Perhaps I can hire out my agent as a consultant,” Rose joked. 

“You just might,” Harriet said, entirely serious.

Feeling a rather uncomfortable mix of flattery and nerves, Rose simply smiled as she and Harriet said their goodbyes.


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John working for both Bucknall and Vitex starts to take a toll on both him and the family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone hits someone, just over halfway in.

John returned from the City a few days later, tired and frustrated. His lab had not been left alone while he was in Bucknall, so he’d spent as much time re-organising it as he did working. He got even less work done once all the interruptions were factored in. Saxon, Rattigan, and Bennett all felt no hesitation in showing up at the lab and demanding John’s attention. They wanted to talk about the election, Vitex, the weather, anything other than what John was presently doing - unless it was to demand that he change it. Saxon not wanted to create a special ‘ladies’ formula.’ Rattigan said the latest surveys showed consumers preferred the tonic to be a different colour. Lucy had told Saxon she thought the new formula smelled like bananas, and as she _loathed_ bananas, it had to be changed. 

John was almost personally offended by that last one.

In the end, he’d stayed two days longer than planned, and didn’t have any opportunity to suss out even a little of why Torchwood had a file on him. Jenny and Vastra had made copies of the documents on his arrival, but the election had increased their workload as candidates looked for dirt on each other and attempted to cover their own tracks. As he didn’t seem to be in any immediate danger, John’s questions would have to be put on hold for a little while.

Strax picked him up from the train station, and John dragged himself through the front door. The House was quiet, and everything and everyone was where they ought to be - Rose in her office, Lady Jacqueline in the parlour, Anthony at his lessons, the staff hard at work. Ianto came to fetch his bags, and John sighed with relief to be home.

Rose emerged just before John could head upstairs. He found a burst of energy upon seeing her, enough to lift her off the floor when they embraced.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” he said, gently setting her down.

She pulled him in for a kiss. “I’m just glad you’re home now. We’ve missed you.” 

Tired as he was, just hearing that buoyed John’s spirits. After going to his room and apologising to Ianto yet again for the state of his lab clothes, John reunited with the rest of the family over luncheon. Even Tony joined them, accompanied by Miss Clara. 

Lady Jacqueline was full of information about the election campaign events she and Rose would be hosting for Harriet Jones. Normally both John and Rose found the discussion of decor and seating plans to be tedious, but John was rather happy to talk about a less heavy subject, and said as much when Rose tried to change the subject for him.

“It’s quite all right. I’ve had enough manufacturing and policy talk to last me a long while,” he said. “I’m enjoying hearing about your flowers, honestly.”

Lady Jacqueline smiled, and Rose was struck by a memory. “John actually knows a lot about flowers.”

“Does he now?” Lady Jacqueline said, and John felt himself blush.

“He used to send me arrangements with very specific meanings. They were beautiful.”

“When was this?” Lady Jacqueline asked Rose. Turning to John, she demanded, “And why does she mean, ‘used to’? Why’d you stop?”

“Mum!” Rose laughed, as John made a mess of the back of his hair. “It was last year, when we were first getting to know each other. And I don’t need flower messages, Mum, we just _talk_ to each other now.”

“I’ve given you flowers recently!” John exclaimed. “Well, by recently I mean Valentine’s Day. I’ve just been… busy… lately…” He tugged at his ear and looked at his lap.

Rose laid her hand on his arm. “It’s okay, John. It means more to me that you work so hard for Bucknall than flowers do.”

John fidgeted with his teacup, but still grinned at Rose. “If you like, Lady Jacqueline, I could make some recommendations for your centrepieces.”

Lady Jacqueline was delighted by this, and they made plans to see to the flowers the following week. It was not something John had expected himself to do, let alone _volunteer_ for, but the frequent trips to Vietx and everything that came along with them were fuelling his appreciation for the domestic side of Bucknall. Martha and Mickey were back from their honeymoon and would be joining them for dinner on a regular basis. The gardens were flowering, and there was landscaping to be done. Bucknall’s farmers were hard at work with their fields and livestock. Children were eagerly anticipating summer holidays and the upcoming fete. Last spring had been when John’s life had begun to change. This spring would be for renewed efforts to nurture that growth. 

“Master Tony, what do the skies look like this week?” John asked.

Anthony shrugged at picked at his cake. “I don’t know.”

“We just looked at the forecast yesterday, didn’t we?” Miss Clara prodded gently. “It looked good, if I recall.”

“I guess.”

The women exchanged looks over Anthony’s head, while John persisted. “Well, then we ought to go up for a lesson or two.”

He shrugged again. “Maybe. I have a lot of studying to do for my entrance exams.”

“I think you could spare the time,” Miss Clara said.

Anthony put down his fork rather loudly. “May I be excused?”

“Miss Clara isn’t finished yet,” Lady Jacqueline reminded him. The boy and his tutor were always meant to leave the table together.

“Fine.” He slumped back and crossed his arms, and his mother prompted him to sit up straight, which he did with a roll of his eyes.

“Mum tells me you have a weekend off coming up,” Rose said to Clara. “Anything special planned?”

Clara nodded and lit up. “My father’s coming to visit. I’ll be taking him to the fete and introducing him to Mr. Pink.”

“Danny? The schoolteacher?” John asked, confused. 

The ladies laughed at his bewilderment. “Yes, John, they’ve been courting for months,” Lady Jacqueline said.

“I’d hardly call it _courting_ ,” Clara protested. “We rarely see each other without our students around.”

“Well, _that_ must be rectified,” Lady Jacqueline said. “He’s a lovely man, and lucky to have you. I don’t see why you’re so surprised, John.”

“I’m not _surprised_ , not in a bad way,” John insisted. “I just had no idea. It’s rather soon, isn’t it? Didn’t he _just_ move here?”

“He’s been here since July, before start of term,” Rose said. “And Mum’s right. Clara, if you and Mr. Pink would like to spend more time together, you mustn’t think we’d stop you.”

“Besides, Tony will be heading to boarding school soon, and then what will you do?” Lady Jacqueline asked.

Clara was blushing up to her hairline. “You’re very kind, Lady Powell, Lady Jacqueline,” she said. “To be truthful, I’d not given it much thought; I’ve been so focused on preparing Master Anthony for his entrance exams. But I do like it here in Bucknall, so I’ll look for another pupil nearby, or apply at the school.”

“You’ll do brilliantly either way,” John said. “And Lady Jacqueline is right, Mr. Pink is a lucky man. I’m sorry for my reaction, I just haven’t been keeping as informed about things around here as I would like.”

“That’s all right, Mr. Smith,” Clara said.

“Now, where will your father be staying?” Lady Jacqueline asked. “And don’t say the pub. If he can’t afford the bed and breakfast, he’s welcome here.”

“Mum, please!” Rose exclaimed. “Clara, your father can stay at the House if the two of you wish, but don’t feel obligated to accept.”

“And you should bring him and Mr. Pink to dinner,” Lady Jacqueline interjected. 

“ _If_ you don’t have your own plans,” Rose added, eyeing her mother critically. “We’d love to get to know them, so let us know if the three of you are available for a meal. I suspect you’d rather spend your days off away from your employers.”

“Thank you,” Clara said. “I’m sure my father would love to see the House, so I’ll ask him about coming for tea.”

With luncheon finished, Tony dashed ahead to his classroom despite warnings from his mother and Clara not to run. Rose and Lady Jacqueline left for an afternoon charity meeting, so John walked upstairs with Clara, at a much more sedate pace than her charge.

“I’ll speak to him about it when I catch up,” Clara said. “He won’t cause trouble, just go straight to his books. My challenge is getting him to read anything other than physics.”

“What’s wrong with physics?”

Clara rolled her eyes at John’s teasing. “Nothing, but he needs Latin, French, and arithmetic if he wants to pass his exams. That’s not to mention his writing and reading, which need a lot of work.”

“He’s not behind, is he?” John asked.

“Far from it. He’s a gifted boy, it’s just difficult to get him started on anything he’s not interested in.”

“Other than that, is he… doing okay?” John asked, stopping before they got too close to the baize door separating the children’s quarters. “He didn’t seem like himself at luncheon.”

Clara glanced at the door and sighed. “He misses you, John.”

“Me?”

“Yes, _you_ ,” she said, poking him in the chest. “He used to be able to run to you with any questions about physics, or astronomy, or all sorts of things that I don’t know, and you haven’t been here. Sometimes I think he’s studying all that stuff so much so he doesn’t _have_ to ask you.”

John felt his stomach, and his heart, and all his other organs sink. “I knew he didn’t like me leaving, but…”

“Evidently you missed some important astronomical event recently, don’t ask me which one,” Clara continued. “You were meant to be back, but when he found out you were delayed I couldn’t get a word out of him for the rest of the day.”

“It’s that bad?”

“That’s why he was acting up at luncheon,” she said. “I don’t know if you realise this, John, but since his father died you’re the only man around here who isn’t a servant. Considering the kind of life he’s expected to lead, you’re his primary male role model. Oh, don’t look so shocked. Who else is there?”

“I hadn’t thought about it that way,” John admitted, staring at his shoes. 

“You ought to. But whatever you do, start slow,” she advised. “One thing I’ve learned about children, if you’re going to get their trust back, you have to really earn it. Because in the long run, if you break their hearts…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “Think about it, John. But don’t wait up with the telescope for him.”

Clara slipped past the door, leaving John alone and full of questions.

***

John did absolutely everything he could to cancel or reschedule his next planned trip to Vitex. Saxon wouldn’t budge, though, and he ended up making several jaunts back and forth rather than spend the entire time in the City. Finally he put his foot down and Saxon relented, but John wasn’t so sure the result was any better - instead, Saxon would be coming to Bucknall, his whole campaign team in tow.

The visit did little to calm John’s nerves and much to fuel his anger at Saxon. Aside from one or two mildly disinterested visits to John’s workshop, Saxon spent his time on the campaign trail, showing up at church services and gatherings at the pub. Lucy was spotted at the tea room and the hospital women’s auxiliary. John loaded Rattigan down with a variety of new compounds and sent him back to the City as soon as he could. 

The local papers had a field day with Saxon’s presence. While they were thrilled to finally meet the new candidate, the Henrik-Powell _Post_ wasn’t exactly known for its hard-hitting journalism. More than one breakfast had John tossing the paper aside in disgust, and this day in June was no exception.

“What is it this time?” Rose asked, sedately buttering her toast. 

“He’s playing the rags-to-riches angle, but none of it is true,” John said. “His family weren’t wealthy but they still had money. Even when we were in the City as teenagers he insisted on having the best. The part where he worked his way into the upper echelons of organised crime have been conveniently omitted.”

Lady Jacqueline was taking breakfast in bed, and Anthony had already left for his lessons, otherwise John would not have been speaking so frankly. Jack was attending to the breakfast service, but he knew just about everything anyway.

“Well, I doubt he’d have told them about that,” Rose said. By now, two weeks after Saxon had come to town, she was weary of these outbursts.

“But have they not done any _research_?” he protested. “Honestly, in the City, this is an open secret. Everyone knows who his associates are affiliated with, it’s not that difficult to connect the dots.”

“The _Post_ ’s editor is a spineless puppet,” Rose said. “He’ll print whatever he thinks will sell, and whatever _he_ thinks people should know, which is usually what Jagrafess tells him.”

“Jagrafess? Why does that sound familiar?” John snatched up the paper again and started rifling through it. 

“They’re the publishing company that owns the _Post_ ,” Rose explained. “Some behemoth, they own a lot of newspapers.”

“And _they_ are owned by Torchwood,” John said, pinning the paper down on the table with his index finger. There, in the masthead, was “a publication of Torchwood, Inc.” in very small letters.

“That explains a lot,” Rose said.

“Does Harriet Jones talk to them?” he asked.

“I think so,” Rose answered. “Though I don’t recall the _Post_ ever doing such an extensive profile on her. Then again, she’s been in the incumbent for many years.”

John put the _Post_ aside and looked over the other papers. “I don’t see this one very often.”

“The Bucknall _Star_?” Rose said. “It’s more of a magazine, only once a week. It doesn’t have nearly as many resources. We get those, and the _Times_ from the City.”

“That’s all?”

“It’s a small town, John, you know that.”

“I know. I just don’t like that this seems to be the loudest voice with no real competitor, especially if Saxon’s got them in his pocket.”

“You don’t know that he does.”

“It’s _Torchwood_. They own this paper _and_ Vitex. Vitex brings them the most money, ergo, Vitex and Saxon are valuable to them. They’ll want one of their own in Parliament, and they won’t piss him off. I’m surprised they’re not endorsing him outright already.”

Rose rubbed her temple and watched John’s face, intent as it was scanning the _Times_. SHe’d not even wanted to be all that involved in this election, what with the upheaval her family and household had been through in the past year. Now she was knee-deep in it thanks to both candidates. 

She sighed. “It’s early days still. I’m sure we’ll learn more eventually,” she said, folding her napkin and setting it aside. 

John leapt to his feet as Rose stood up. “Where are you going? You’ve not finished eating.”

“To get some _work_ done, John,” she snapped. “The Yateses have new lambs and I need to make some inquiries about purchasers now if we’re to get a good price for them this winter. Then I have to review the minutes from the Horticultural Society meeting last week, which I missed because I had to cover for the visit _you_ were supposed to make to the cottage building site. Mum wants me to approve the seating for Harriet’s fundraiser, and Tony’s been acting next to impossible so I need to figure out what to do with him during Clara’s days off. After that, Strax needs to talk to me about ordering new parts for one of the cars, but I’ll be lucky if I get to him before dinner because _someone_ arranged for the music room to be painted but double-booked himself with some stupid election meeting so he can’t even be there to supervise!”

Rose felt almost as stunned as John looked. She hadn’t planned for everything to spew out in a torrent like that, and she certainly hadn’t meant to throw it in John’s face at the end. But she was still dizzy with frustration and the relief of getting things off her chest that she could hardly move. There was an interminable silence before John answered. 

“I’m sorry, Rose, that trying to keep our reputations and this household _intact_ don’t seem like _work_ to you,” he shot back. “I’m sorry I missed the cottage visit because I was placating the man who could ruin our lives and that I forgot about the painters because I’m trying to figure out how to keep that man from ruining the country!”

“You can’t control the entire voting population, that’s not your job! Your _job_ is to be agent of this estate, and trustee, because the stupid law doesn’t think I’m competent enough to do it myself!”

“Maybe you’re not, if you can’t handle things without me every now and then!”

The slap that echoed through the room was also unplanned. John cradled his cheek, Rose covered her mouth, then stared at her hand like it had acted of its own volition.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, then fled the dining room before things got any worse.

***

John felt a tug toward Rose’s study, but kept himself on the road to the village. It wasn’t even luncheon yet; she would want to be left alone a little longer. She wouldn’t have to see him until after tea if the day went as John thought.

He’d hid out in his workshop until it was time to go meet Saxon and his team at the Headless Monk. In the past six weeks, Dorium’s little watering hole had been cleaned up and transformed into an establishment more in line with Saxon’s standards and tastes. He even had decent beer and more than one kind of whiskey now. John was called out there on election and Vitex business alike. 

John pulled up down the street from the Monk and made his way in. The sooner this was over, the sooner he could go home, apologise to Rose, and take care of the painters like he was supposed to.

Saxon had quite the lunch spread set out for them, and John picked at the food while everyone else talked. It was clearly not from Dorium’s kitchen, and John learned that it was from Peckham Hall - Sir James was still trying to contribute even as he was recovering from his injuries. 

He listened idly to Mr. Bennett going over his agenda. The survey of voters in the area was not as good as they’d hoped, but showed some promise in certain areas. They were near to securing some important endorsements, but the names weren’t ones John recognised, at least not as particularly influential, in his opinion. There was also some less benign news. As suspected, Saxon, via Torchwood, had the _Post_ on board. They’d be running an editorial in his favour next week. Then, as the meeting wrapped up, Saxon pulled John aside for a chat.

“I need to know you’re on my side, John,” he said.

“Straight to the point, okay,” John muttered. “I’m not. I’m sure you knew that.”

“Just thought I’d make sure. But you _will_ be working for me.”

“I’ll be working for _Vitex_ ,” John clarified. “And I can’t be attending any of these campaign meetings anymore. I’m sure you understand what kind of stress that puts on things at home.”

“Of course. I assume that means you won’t be involved in Lady Powell’s work with the Prime Minister, either? Because of the stress it would put on things at work.”

The look on Saxon’s face told John that this was a command, not a question. “Naturally,” he answered. “I have too much on my plate as it is.”

With some overly formal and vaguely threatening platitudes exchanged, John left the Headless Monk. He sat in the car and closed his eyes, gripping the steering wheel and resting his forehead on his knuckles. It was a link to Torchwood, but he had to stay away from Saxon’s campaign. No matter how frustrating it was to put the matter of Torchwood’s surveillance on the backburner, he knew that he’d never be able to handle the questions _or_ the answers without Rose by his side. 

He checked his watch. Luncheon would be almost over by now. John started the car, drove out of the village, and took the long way home.

***

With the amount of time Rose usually spent in her study, nobody could accuse her of hiding in there, even if that’s what she had been actually doing all day. After a good cry, she’d collected herself and made her calls and wrote her letters, taking frequent breaks to calm herself down when one thing or another reminded her of her anger, or something else she’d wanted John to do. By the time luncheon came around, she’d worked most of it out of her system, enough that her mother didn’t comment.

An unexpected telephone call from Harriet Jones’s office took up a good portion of her time after luncheon, so that she was late meeting the painters for the music room. Rose rushed down the halls, perplexed to find the music room door open and voices coming from within, until she arrived to the sound of a familiar laugh.

John had the situation well in hand, chatting with the painters as they moved furniture and arranged dropcloths. He caught her eye and smiled; just gently, not his usual brilliant grin. Rose smiled back, and nodded before slipping away, returning to her study. Not long after, there was a soft knock at the door. 

“Come in.”

John slipped around the door and seemed very relieved that Rose was letting him in. “May I?” he asked, gesturing to her side of the desk. She nodded, and he came around to crouch next to her. Rose turned to face him, and he took her hands.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I was out of line this morning. I’ve been overworking myself, but that’s not an excuse for the things I said. You’re doing fantastic, with or without me.”

“It’s better _with_ you,” Rose murmured.

“It’s better with you, too,” he said, and they chuckled. “I told Saxon that I can’t be involved in his campaign anymore. I didn’t want to be in the first place, and it’s been hurting you, and things here. That’s not okay.”

“Was he angry?”

“Oh, he was annoyed, but since his only caveat was that I keep out of the Jones campaign too, I think he’ll manage,” he said. “Of course, that means I can’t help you with that.”

“That’s fine. I’m delegating most of that stuff to Mum, since she loves it so much,” Rose said quickly. “I’m sorry I hit you,” she added, reaching out to gently stroke John’s cheek with her thumb. The skin was a little pink still, but he leaned towards her touch anyway.

“No harm done. Besides, I kinda deserved it.”

“No! No, you didn’t,” Rose insisted. “You were rude, and it upset me, but I shouldn’t have reacted that way. It was cruel and immature.” She leaned down and kissed his cheekbone, feeling his eyelashes flutter against her skin. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

“You’re forgiven,” he answered, pulling back to look at her properly.

“You are too,” Rose said. She got to her feet and pulled John up with her so she could slide her arms around his waist and snuggle against his chest. She felt John’s lips press against her hair as he held her close, and sighed.

“I cancelled my appointment this afternoon,” John said. “It was election-related anyway. So is there anything I can do for you today?”

“Pop ‘round the garage and see what Strax needs?” Rose suggested. “You might even be able to fix it yourself.”

“Consider it done.”

John rubbed his hand in slow circles over Rose’s back as long as he could, then pressed a few sweet kisses to her lips. His face had lit up, almost back to its usual brilliance. 

“See you at tea?” Rose asked.

“Definitely.” One more kiss and he was off, leaving Rose relieved, if not entirely content. That would need a while longer.


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fete brings some important information and an unfortunate accident.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW and includes a minor childhood injury.

It had seemed to Rose that this year’s summer fete came much later than the last, or at least that planning it took longer. Still, the day came and the tents went up, the stalls were staffed, and Lady Jacqueline once again confiscated Rose’s clipboard and told her to enjoy herself.

That might have been possible, were it not for the fete becoming prime election campaigning grounds. The fete committee had agreed, in the interest of fairness and promoting democracy, to allow each candidate to set up a booth and hand out materials. Harriet Jones was a little miffed, given the Tyler family’s loyalty to her, but there were opponents besides Harold Saxon, and the rest of the committee felt it appropriate to give everyone a chance.

None of those other candidates garnered anywhere near the attention of Jones and Saxon, though. The Prime Minister’s riding was always of interest, so the press would always be following her. Saxon, meanwhile, had caused quite a stir with his overnight appearance and bold proclamations. He’d declared emphatically that he would bring science, technology, and industry to the region, agitate for government reform and more advocacy for rural citizens. Some of his statements came dangerously close to crossing his party’s lines, leading to rumours of what the leadership might do about him and the larger-than-average interest in him.

Going was slow out on the green with so many people about. Finally Rose made it to the refreshment tent, where her friends were expecting her.

“Bit much for the little Bucknall fete, isn’t it?” Mickey said.

Rose shook her head, accepting a glass of lemonade from John. “I don’t recognise half these people. Some are political time, some press, other candidates…”

“There are folks here from Henrik,” John added. “A lot of out-of-towners, actually.”

“Best chance they’ll get to meet the Prime Minister, I suppose,” Mickey said.

“The vendors are going to run out of food,” Rose grumbled.

“So they’ll take home more money than last year,” Martha said. “It’ll be good for them.”

A roar of laughter went up at the other end of the tent, where Saxon and a few of his supporters had entered - Lance Bennett, Joshua Naismith, even Sir James. 

“I don’t think he’s left Peckham Hall since the accident,” Rose murmured, watching Sir James as he walked carefully behind his friends, eventually choosing to sit. They didn’t stare, but kept an eye on Sir James nonetheless. He seemed more reserved than before, less interested in keeping up with the men around him. 

Soon, Rose was dragged back out to attend to some fete-related business. Martha and Mickey invited John to join them for some of the games, but he stayed behind. He was hoping to run into Tony at some point, maybe see if he was up for another one of the races. Unless he thought he was too old for that now? John couldn’t tell. He didn’t mull on it very long, as he suddenly noticed that Saxon and his cronies had also left, except for Sir James, who saw John at the same time.

“Mr. Smith,” Sir James said. “I hope you’re enjoying the day.”

John set down his empty glass and made his way over to where James sat. “I am. And yourself?”

“It’s nice to finally leave the house,” James replied. “I still tire easily, but not so much as before.”

John squirmed at James’s openness. “That’s good.”

James gazed out at the lawn, watching people pass back and forth in front of the tent. “I remember you were in my study.”

“Oh.”

“Yes. I remember that we fought. I attacked you, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

“I don’t remember what we were fighting about. Don’t tell me. It probably wasn’t important - it rarely is with me.” James took a deep breath. “The point is, I don’t think it matters, and anything you did to me was in self-defense. Whatever it was, I’m sorry and I forgive you.”

“Thank you,” John murmured. “That’s very generous.”

James shrugged. “This whole thing has changed me. The way I used to behave, how I reacted to things… I wasn’t a very good man, Mr. Smith. It’s okay, you can agree with me. But things are going to be different now. I’m going to try to be better, surround myself with better people. Not like now.”

“You mean Saxon.”

James smirked. “For one. I still think he’d be a great MP, but he’s a lousy friend.”

John really couldn’t answer that so he nodded vaguely. Both kept their eyes fixed straight ahead. 

“I suppose I should tell you, I’ve asked the police to cease their investigation,” James continued. “No point in it now. I’m fine, and nothing was stolen.” James shifted and signalled to Mitchell, his valet. “Time to take in the fete as best I can. Good day, Mr. Smith.”

“Good day, Sir James,” John said, watching the man steady himself of his feet with his valet’s help. He wished him luck in his recovery, then went in search of something stronger than lemonade.

***

Once John had gotten his bearings again, he strode about the green, smiling and greeting the folks he knew, and steering well clear of anyone campaigning for anything. Catching sight of the games, he headed that way. If anything he’d be safe from political nonsense around the children.

There was a sack race going on, with a few teachers officiating. He ambled over to where Clara was watching with Danny Pink and an older man. She caught his eye and waved.

“Mr. Smith, how lovely to see you! I hope you’re enjoying the day.”

“Better now that I’m with some friendly faces,” he answered.

Clara introduced her father, and John shook hands with him and Danny. Mr. Oswald was a kind and good-humoured man, and John could see where Clara got her wit. He was clearly proud of his daughter, and excited to see where she was living and working.

“Let Rose and I give you a tour of the House,” John told him. “Lady Jacqueline will only show you the main rooms and a few paintings. Rose and I can share a few secrets.”

“You’re on quite familiar terms with Lady Powell,” Danny observed. 

“We, ah, have worked together quite closely over the past year, and…” John stammered, tugging on his ear. His relationship with Rose had been an open secret within the House for so long that he wasn’t sure how they should talk about each other in public anymore. Mr. Pink’s tone indicated more than a little interest in the details.

“Lady Powell and Mr. Smith have a uniquely close relationship,” Clara interjected, looking sharply at her beau. “Mr. Smith has been agent for almost a year, and has acted as trustee since Lor Powell passed away in November,” she explained to her father. “It’s rather unfortunate, but there are conditions on the estate that make Lady Powell unable to control it officially.”

“I’m trustee as a formality,” John added. “Rose makes all the real decisions.”

Mr. Oswald nodded his understanding, and asked John a few questions about the estate and the House that he was happy to answer. Mr. Pink still seemed unsure of John, which bothered him less than he expected. John was protective of the House staff, and part of him instinctively felt that he wasn’t sure the schoolteacher was good enough for Clara, but it seemed that he made her happy. John was one to talk, deciding who was good enough for who. He was a man of no standard courting a Countess. He could be nice to Danny Pink.  
While he was only half paying attention, Clara had wrangled Tony away from some sort of mischief. “Dad, this is Master Anthony Tyler, my pupil. Anthony, my father, David Oswald.”

Tony shook Mr. Oswald’s hand and welcomed him to Bucknall in a fidgety version of the script Clara would have taught him. John smiled, proud of Tony’s ability to be polite when all the boy wanted to do was run off and play. 

“Anthony, Mr. Smith told me there are excellent views of Saturn coming up soon,” Clara said. 

“Okay,” Tony said, not looking at John.

John swallowed hard. “Hey, they’re doing the piggyback race soon. We should defend our title, what do you think?”

Tony gave him a funny look. “That’s for _little_ kids.”

“The difference a year makes,” Clara muttered.

“Then what’s happening for the big kids?” John persisted. Tony just shrugged. John could feel the other adults’ eyes on him. “How about the strength test? Ring toss? Shooting? Coconut shy?”

“I’d rather just go play with my friends.”

“Come on, Tony, we can win any of those with one hand behind our backs!”

“No, thank you.” The boy’s tone was far less polite than his words, and he ran off without saying goodbye. John’s mouth gaped in an attempt to explain, but Clara, resting a hand on his arm, intervened. 

“Go after him, John,” she said gently. “He won’t admit it, but he’ll appreciate it.”

John nodded. “Excuse me,” he said, and wove through the crowd to follow Tony. He looked for the boy for a full twenty minutes. It was amazing how far away he could get when he didn’t want to be found. He’d run into a few friends and neighbours, but nobody had seen him, until Jack said he’d seen Tony head toward the stand of trees by the path leading to the House. John made quick strides in that direction, ducking around all the people. 

There was a group of boys roughhousing in the shade, but no Tony. “Have any of you seen Anthony Tyler?” he asked. He was directed to look up, and he saw Tony sitting on a big branch, trying to ignore him. 

“Tony! Tony, please come down.”

“No! Leave me alone!”

John sighed, awkwardly glancing at the boys around him. “I’m not doing that. I want to talk.”

“Well, I don’t!” he shouted down.

“Tony, please. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t care! Just go away, that’s all you’re good at anyway!”

John flinched a little inside. “You know I’ll just climb up there. Please come talk to me.”

Instead, Tony climbed higher. John sighed and grabbed onto the trunk, looking for a foothold. Before he could get started, a loud _crack_ sounded from above. His head snapped up, and by the time he registered the splintered wood on the branch Tony was on, the boy had slipped from his perch. 

John lunged to try to break Tony’s fall, but he was too slow. Tony was wailing and writhing, and the other boys were crowding around to see the damage. 

“My arm!” Tony moaned, clutching his right arm to his chest. John knelt down beside him. 

“It’s going to be all right, Tony,” he said, gently touching the shoulder on his uninjured side. He pointed at a few kids who seemed familiar. “You know Lady Powell and Lady Jacqueline, yes? Find them and tell them to meet us at Dr. Shaw’s clinic. And if you see Dr. Shaw or Martha Jones Smith, send them over too.” With his messengers on their way, John scooped Tony up as carefully as he could, and headed into the village. He walked as fast as he could without running and jostling Tony’s arm.

_Just a broken arm,_ he told himself. _That’s all, he’ll be okay._

By the time he arrived at the surgery, Martha was already there and ushered them in. “Set him down here,” she said, gesturing at the exam table. “Dr. Shaw’s on her way.”

Tony was only whimpering now, but clutched onto John nonetheless while Martha set to work exposing the broken arm. When it proved too painful to get more than his jacket off, she carefully cut off his right sleeve with scissors. John kept rubbing Tony’s back and reassuring him while Martha worked. 

Dr. Shaw arrived shortly and shooed John away so they could x-ray Tony’s arm. He was still pacing in the waiting room when Rose and Lady Jacqueline arrived. 

“Where is he?” Lady Jacqueline demanded. “Is he okay? What happened?”

“He fell out of a tree and broke his arm,” John explained. “He’s in for an x-ray now. Should be fine.”

“ _Should_? What do you mean, _should_?”

“Mum, calm down,” Rose said. “It’s just a broken arm.” She made her mother sit down and took her hand. 

Soon enough, Martha came out and said they were done with the x-ray. Only Lady Jacqueline was allowed in while they set the bone and cast it in plaster. John and Rose sat and waited. 

“Were you there when he fell?” Rose asked. 

“Yeah. We got in an argument and he ran off. I was trying to talk to him but he just kept climbing.” He leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees. “I shouldn’t have pushed him.”

“It’s not your fault, John.”

“I know. I just feel like I should’ve let him be, tried later.”

Rose squeezed his arm. “Tony adores you. He’ll give you a chance soon enough.”

They sent for a car to bring Tony and Lady Jacqueline home. Rose and John stayed behind to make excuses, then walked back to the House. The day was almost coming to a close, and Rose was grateful for a reason to get away from the hustle and bustle.

***

Dinner had been quiet, just John and Rose. Lady Jacqueline took hers upstairs with Tony since she was still fretting over him. Rose was exhausted after the fete, and retired as soon as she could. She dismissed Gwen quickly, but stayed seated at the vanity long after.

Harriet had been in full campaign mode the whole day, and Rose was at her side for almost all of it. Saxon was at it too, and one of the rounds of tug-o-war even seemed to have a Saxon versus Jones theme. Then one of the village kids had run up to her saying that Tony was hurt, and she spent the rest of the afternoon calming her mother. After being surrounded by people all day, Rose just needed quiet. 

Still, John knocked on her door and she was glad for it. He stood behind her and rubbed her shoulders, and Rose leaned back against him. 

“You’re just about the only person I can tolerate right now,” she said.

“Tolerate, I’m honoured,” he joked. “Was Harriet happy with the day?”

“Sure seems like it,” Rose said. “I don’t want to talk about that, though.” She pulled John’s arms around her and he rested his chin on her head. 

“I talked to Sir James today,” he said.

“What?”

“After you left the refreshment tent. He told me he remembers some of that night, but he thinks he deserves it. He’s called off the police. Seems like a changed man.”

“And you believe him?”:

“Yeah, actually. I do.” He leaned down and pressed his lips behind Rose’s ear. “He believes his injuries were from my defense.”

“They were,” Rose sighed, tilting her head as John kissed his way down her neck. 

“You saved my life, Rose,” he murmured. “I don’t know if you realise that.”

“I was just acting on instinct,” she said, shrugging to help John peel her dressing gown off her shoulders. 

“Good instincts, then,” he said. “Did I ever thank you for that?”

“I’m sure you did.”

“I’d like to do it again. Just to be certain.” He slid a hand down her arm and up again, grazing the side of her breast, while his mouth came back to her neck. “If that’s okay.”

Rose shivered and hummed happily. “More than.” She turned on her stool to kiss him properly, her hands finding his so he could pull her to her feet. She let her dressing gown fall the rest of the way to the floor, finally noticing that John was still in his dinner clothes, though he’d shed the jacket and his bow tie hung loose around his neck. “You’ve not changed.”

“Couldn’t wait to see you,” he said, ducking for her lips again. 

Rose smiled against him and began to work at his waistcoat and the studs pinning shirt closed. “All the better. I’ve always wanted to undress you like this.”

“You haven’t before?”

“You always show up in your pyjamas. I’ve never had the chance.”

“Mmm. Well, be careful, Ianto will have my head if I lose any of these.”

Having finished, Rose showed John the handful of shirt studs. “They’ll be safe and sound right here,” she said, depositing them in one of her jewelry trays. “As will these cufflinks. Now, no more talking about anyone else.”

“As you wish,” John said, letting Rose push his waistcoat, shirt, and braces off in one go. She grumbled when she caught sight of his union suit, and still more buttons.

“And I thought women’s undergarments were ridiculous,” she muttered, getting the top half of his underwear undone and pushing it away so she could feel his bare chest.

John chuckled before pulling her against him. Rose twined her arms around his neck and sunk her fingers into his hair, delighting in how soft it was. He never tamed it with any of the newfangled products out there, always making the bare minimum effort to comb it down, and she relished bringing it back to its natural messy state. 

She felt the hem of her nightdress rise, sliding up with John’s hand on her thigh. It reminded her that he still had his trousers and underwear on, hanging precariously on his narrow hips, and she fumbled with the fastenings until they dropped to the floor . 

“No shoes?” she asked as he stepped out of his bottoms. 

“Gotta be quiet in the hall, you know,” he said.

“We’ll need to move you to a closer room,” Rose decided. 

John answered by sweeping her into his arms and depositing her, giggling, onto her bed. He crawled up her body, bringing part of her nightgown with him, until he could meet her lips with his own. Propped up on one arm, his free hand roamed under the fabric, finding her stomach, her breasts, everywhere except where an urgent throbbing had been growing between her legs. 

Rose arched into him, drawing her leg against his and over his hip, seeking to pull him closer. When John finally broke their kiss for breath, she pleaded with a moan for more. John merely smiled, dropping his lips to her neck and shifting her nightgown further up her body. Rose lifted to help it off, her hands returning to caress his back. He stopped her before she could get her hands below his waist, though. 

“Not yet,” he murmured, pinning her arms beside her head. He relinquished them slowly as he kissed his way down her throat and across her collarbones. Rose squirmed as he laved his tongue in their hollows, biting her lip as her body reached for him quite on its own. He held himself away, though, the only contact coming from his lips and tongue tracing her every feature. She stifled a cry when his attentions came to her breasts, drawing each nipple to a peak, outlining the curves of their undersides.

“I want to hear you, Rose. Don’t hold yourself back,” he said.

A thrill rose in her chest. “Someone will hear-”

“Doubtful,” he replied, testing her resolve by lightly running his fingertips along her inner thighs. “You’re always so careful, but I’ve worked on these walls. I know how thick they are.” Finally he slipped a finger between the folds of her sex, finding them wet and swollen, her clitoris demanding attention.

Rose yelped and John grinned. “That’s more like it.” He kept teasing her with his hand, dipping his fingers inside her and barely brushing where she wanted him most, until she was writhing and clutching at the sheets. Despite her efforts, she couldn’t help the sounds escaping her, moans and cries and breathed words of encouragement. His long fingers inside her felt wonderful, but she wanted more, wanted his mouth on her and his talented tongue to go to work. She couldn’t form the words, though, so she grappled for his head, trying to guide him into place. 

John chuckled as she tightened her grip on his hair. “Okay, okay, I understand.” He removed his fingers but kept them close to spread her open, finally diving in to taste her.

Rose keened, a sound reminiscent of ‘yes,’ and her hips bucked toward the source of her pleasure. She could feel John smile as his tongue mapped her out, stroking against every sensitive spot, sending her to new heights. One of his strong hands steadied her while the other returned to her centre. His long fingers slipped back inside her, pumping and curling as his tongue zeroed in on her clit. She could feel the flush on her skin acutely now, shuddering as her muscles pulled taut, her back arching, a litany of incoherent words in her own voice. Soon she crested the wave, calling John’s name as every nerve sparked at once. 

Rose felt herself sink into her bed, as if she could really collapse while still lying down. John still rested between her thighs, and she managed to open her eyes enough to see him peering up at her as he pressed gentle kisses to her hips and thighs. Rose laughed breathlessly as she finally released her grasp on his hair, and caught him grinning.

“Oh, shut up,” she sighed. 

“I believe my mouth has been too busy to make much noise,” he teased, shifting up to lie beside her.

Rose giggled and pushed playfully at his shoulder before turning to snuggle into his arms. His skin felt cool against hers, and she was grateful for the duvet he pulled over them. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he murmured. “mm, don’t worry about me,” he added when Rose reached down to palm his erection. 

“You said ‘not yet,’” Rose said. “What are you waiting for?”

John gathered her closer and kissed her gently. “Before, it was to take care of you. Now I need to settle myself down a little.”

Rose hummed her understanding and burrowed into his chest, wrapping her arm around his waist again. “I might fall asleep first.”

“That’s quite all right,” he answered. “I’ll be here when you wake.” He reached over to turn off the bedside lamp and adjusted his hold and the covers. Sated, warm, and sleepy, Rose drifted off to sleep.


	43. Chapter 43

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just as they begin to settle down a little, John meets another member of Rose's extended family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marion Prentice is not the Dowager Countess of Grantham. She's not half as witty and if she speaks from a place of love, well, that place is very very far away. If this kind of emotional abuse will be upsetting to you, please tread with caution once John and Rose come back from their picnic.

With their concerns about Sir James laid to rest and the fete over, Rose and John geared up for the last few weeks of the election campaign. Rather, Rose geared up, and John tried desperately to balance avoiding it with being helpful to Rose. Tony didn’t come down for breakfast in the morning, still tired from the previous day’s excitement. John fidgeted through the meal, and bolted upstairs as soon as he could. 

“I need to talk to your brother,” he said to Rose. “I’ll meet you in the office.”

He knocked on the green baize and Clara let him in. “I thought you’d come by,” she said. “We’ve not started yet. Anthony, John is here.”

Tony was curled up in an armchair near the window. He glanced up but went back to his book, though he clearly wasn’t reading it. “Hello.”

“Hi.” John shoved his hands in his pockets and took a few tentative steps closer. 

“I’ve a few things to prepare for our lessons, Anthony, I’ll be right back,” Clara said, slipping into an adjoining room. 

“Tony-”

“I’m busy reading, Mr. Smith. My arm is fine, if you’re wondering.”

Mr. Smith. Tony hadn’t called him that since… John shook his head. “I’m glad your arm is feeling better. Can I tell you something? You can go back to reading after if you want.” Tony didn’t really acknowledge him, but he didn’t say no either, so John went and crouched in front of him, placing his hands on the armrest for balance. “Tony,” he said, “I know you’re upset. I know it’s my fault, and I’m sorry. I haven’t been here and you’ve every right to be mad at me.”

“You missed my birthday,” Tony said quietly, still staring blankly at his book.

“I know.”

“You missed astronomy lessons too.”

“I didn’t want to miss any of those things. I’m sorry for all of it.”

“You being away, it made Rose sad. Mum too.”

John knew that too, though he was a little surprised that Lady Jacqueline was included. “It makes you sad too, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Tony murmured. John recognised the effort to look less emotional than he felt and jumped in.

“I’m not happy about it either,” he said. “My other job I have, it isn’t very nice. I have to work for a pretty awful man, and he doesn’t care about how long I’m away from home, or what I might be missing. I’d much rather be here with you, and Rose, and your mum, than stuck in a lab in the City. But this other job is important, and even though I’m trying to make it so I don’t have to be away, I’m still going to have to leave sometimes. You know that, right?” Tony nodded. “But no matter what, I will _always_ come back here. Bucknall is my home now, it’s where I belong, and you are _such_ an important part of that. I hate that I’ve made you and your family sad, and I’m so sorry that I ever made you feel like I didn’t care about you.”

He’d been trying to make eye contact with Tony, but instead just noticed a few tears drop onto the pages of his book. Tony nodded, and in a small voice said, “I just missed you a lot.”

“I missed you too, Tony,” John said, reaching out and squeezing Tony’s arm. “I still miss you, since I’ve hardly seen you lately.”

“I didn’t want to do too much since you’re just going to have to leave again.”

John cringed. “I know. But not anytime soon, and I’m trying to make it so I don’t have to go away so often, and that I’ll be home when I say I will.”

Tony finally looked up at John. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

Suddenly Tony threw his arms around John’s neck, and John carefully returned the embrace. 

“You’re one of my best friends,” he said in John’s ear. 

“And you’re one of mine,” John answered. 

Tony hugged him a little tighter before pulling away. “Can we go look at the stars tonight?”

It was John’s turn to choke back some tears, and he smiled. “Absolutely.”

***

Tony was up and about in no time, and he and John had a great look at Saturn. His cast was no impediment to running around the estate, though it made writing difficult. John was thrilled to be back on good terms with Tony, and they’d gone up to the West Tower almost every night, despite Lady Jacqueline’s concerns about ‘bedtime’ and ‘a good night’s sleep.’ It wasn’t until Clara said Tony was falling asleep during lessons and put her foot down that they lightened up on their stargazing schedule.

Lady Jacqueline managed to corral her son long enough for tea in the afternoon, when Mr. Mott brought the post. Rose looked up from her book at her mother’s loud sigh.

“What is it?”

“Your grandmother is coming to visit,” Lady Jacqueline said, passing the letter over.

“Next week? Well _that’s_ plenty of notice.”

“You’ll have to mind your tone, Mother loathes sarcasm,” Lady Jacqueline sniffed. “Mott, do you recall how we had everything set up the last time my mother came?”

“Of course, my lady.”

“She’s due to arrive on Tuesday morning, please see that everything is in order. And tell Mrs. Grant I’ll be needing to revise the menus,” she said. “Oh, I’m getting a headache already.”

“Is she that bad?” John asked from his spot on the floor. He and Tony were building an increasingly precarious structure with wooden sticks and round connectors. 

“Grandmother Prentice is very… particular,” Rose said carefully. “And old fashioned. She’s had a lot to say about me going to college, being titled in my own right, and managing the estate myself.”

“She’s still proud of you, sweetheart,” Lady Jacqueline said. 

“She’d be prouder if I married a duke,” Rose grumbled. “You married an earl’s heir and she chided you for not aiming higher.”

“A Prentice girl could marry the King and my mother would be disappointed,” Lady Jacqueline scoffed. “Don’t trouble yourself about that.”

John caught the fleeting glance Lady Jacqueline sent him, and focused on the building. “I’m sure she’s not that bad, right Tony?”

“Her sweets are weird and really old,” he said. “And she doesn’t think science is a noble pursuit.”

“What?!”

“She means ‘appropriate for the nobility,’” Rose said. “He’s supposed to marry rich too, and set up his own household somewhere.”

“Bor-ing,” Tony intoned to chuckles from his mother and sister. “No offense, Rose.”

“None taken. I think you’ll be a marvellous scientist.” She leaned over and ruffled Tony’s hair, smirking at his attempt to scoot away. 

“Does Grandmother say why she’s visiting?” Tony asked.

“She wants to get out of the City,” Lady Jacqueline said. “Evidently my cousin has sold the dower house at Coulmour and has been less than friendly to her.”

“He sold it? Whyever for?” Rose asked.

“They need the money. Coulmour’s not nearly as productive as Bucknall, and it’s only a barony, after all,” she said. “That’s what happens when your heir is a distant relation, I suppose.”

“You sound a lot like Grandmother,” Rose teased.

“Oh, stop,” Lady Jacqueline said, swatting Rose with an envelope. “Don’t you two have work to be doing?”

***

The staff were in a flurry at the news of the Dowager Baroness of Coulmour coming to visit. Mrs. Grant now had a grocery list as long as her arm in order to re-do next week’s menus. Amelia had not been replaced when she left for her apprenticeship, so the cook only had a scullery maid to help her. Rory had also not been replaced, so Jack had to borrow Ianto to help bring out and polish the nicer china, silver, and glassware. And with the housemaid under the weather, Gwen and Donna grumbled about doing up one of the guest rooms.

“She always wants things ‘just so,’ which for her means having them completely nonsensical,” Donna said.

John had come downstairs to visit, and let Donna vent while they played cards. He was trying to keep their card date at least once a week - he genuinely missed her company, and Donna kept him grounded through all his nonsense with Saxon. 

“She’s probably just set in her ways,” John said.

“If ‘her way’ is the opposite of how any normal people would do things,” she said. “She requests things just because they’re the opposite of what’s been presented, I swear. And she’s not nice about it, either.”

John put down a card. “I’m sure you’ll survive. She’s bringing her own maid.”

“If it’s the same one as last time, that’ll make things worse. She was insufferable.” Donna threw down her cards and crowed in triumph. “You lose again, Spaceman.”

John sighed and began to shuffle the deck again. “So what other terrible things should I know about Marion Prentice?”

“She probably won’t like you much,” Donna replied. “She’ll almost certainly think you’re after money, probably won’t trust you, definitely won’t think you’re good enough for Lady Powell.” She paused and her eyes widened. “Does she know about you and Lady Powell? What will you tell her?”

“No, and I don’t know,” John said as he dealt. “We just found out she’s coming. Rose and I haven’t had a chance to discuss it.”

“Now _that’s_ something she’ll hate.”

“She’s the one who expects everyone to marry up.”

“That only applies if you’re already nobility. The rest of us are supposed to stick to our own kind.” She played her first card smugly.

“Too bad. Rose and I _will_ get married. I already have an engagement ring.”

“Oh, John, that’s lovely! When did you do that? And where’d you get the money?” 

“Months ago, and money wasn’t a problem.” He took his turn and Donn started laughing.

“Really? You’re playing that?”

“Yes, yes I am,” John shot back, smiling.

“Good luck,” Donna said, making her play. “It’s like you _want_ to lose.”

***

Other than getting ready for Grandma Prentice’s visit, Bucknall was much quieter. Harriet Jones was off campaigning in some other part of the country, Vitex was plugging along, and Saxon wasn’t doing anything John could influence, so with less to do at the House, Rose and John had much more time together. With the beautiful weather, it was easy to put their responsibilities aside for a while and just enjoy each others’ company. It reminded Rose of when they were first getting to know each other, and the flush on her cheeks was from more than just the sunshine.

Rose had been practicing riding astride, something she’d rarely done before. It lent itself well to long, meandering rides across the estate with John, usually with a picnic lunch or a visit to the cabin where they’d first made love. They’d also taken to riding out to meet the tenants rather than driving, which kept Rose’s spirits up as the impending visit from her grandmother grew nearer. 

They lay on their picnic blanket on Monday afternoon, Rose’s head in John’s lap. Their lunch finished, they’d taken turns reading a few chapters of a novel to each other, and now Rose was explaining her mother’s family to him.

“So Mum doesn’t have any brothers or sisters, and absolutely could not inherit her family’s estate. You know how old fashioned they can be in the north. But she didn’t even want it anyway, by the time Granddad passed away she was already pregnant with Tony,” she said. “Some distant cousin, Christopher Prentice, I think, became Baron Coulmour. He was already elderly, died maybe two years later, and now his son has it.”

“And he has no money.”

“Evidently,” Rose said. “Mum’s cousin Monique - you met her after Dad died - she tried to convince Mum to challenge the estate, keep it in our own family line, but she had no interest in it. It’s so far away, she’d have to find a caretaker for it anyway, so it was just too much trouble.”

“Have you been there?”

“Once, as a child, but I have very little memory of it.” She closed her eyes while John stroked her hair. “Grandmother never really liked Dad.”

“No? Not even with his title?”

“That was his only redeeming quality as far as she’s concerned,” she said. “She thought he was flighty and impulsive, and would waste all his money and be a terrible father.”

“Ouch.”

“Granny Tyler, though, she liked Mum even less,” Rose said. “She died before I was born, but I’m told she thought the Prentices were classless and uncouth, and resented my mother for bringing so little money to the marriage.”

“Thought she was after the money.”

“Exactly.”

“I suppose Lady Jacqueline and I might have that impression in common, then,” John said, and they both laughed. 

Rose pulled John’s pocketwatch out and looked at the time. “We ought to get back,” she said. “Mum will be expecting us for tea.” She sat up, but John pulled her close for a kiss.

“I still hope your grandmother likes me, even if she doesn’t approve of me,” he said.

“I think tolerating you is the best we can get, to be honest,” she replied, kissing him again, “but I hope so too. We’ll have to keep things professional in front of her anyways, though, okay?”

“Professional.”

“Yes. Friendly, but like colleagues. She’ll need to be… eased into the idea of us courting.”

“Right. Wouldn’t want to shock her delicate sensibilities.”

John was smiling, but Rose sensed a bit of pain in his joke, and cupped his cheek. “I don’t like it either. We’ve been lucky here, with my family and friends being so supportive. I just don’t want to cause any rows. Things will be tense enough as it is.”

“I know, I know,” he sighed. “I just can’t wait until we can stop hiding when we’re around other people.”

“Neither can I,” she said, smoothing down a bit of his hair that had been ruffled by the breeze. “But my family aside, we’ll have to be careful about opening up. We still have Saxon to worry about, and even once that’s dealt with, I can’t just all of a sudden be marrying my agent.”

“I see last minute wedding announcements all the time,” he argued.

“That’s just what it _looks_ like,” she said. “I need to be able to bring you places as my date instead of as my employee a few times, you know?”

“So you’ll have to fire me first?”

“No! We’re a team, I’d never sack you!” Rose’s heart was doing funny things, and her stomach, and her eyes started burning. “I want to say you’re John, just John, without that being a big deal. If we do that now, with Saxon ready to talk at any moment…”

“How does introducing me as staff protect us? For the people who care, that’s just as bad!”

“No, it’s not! It’s far less scandalous to have you on my payroll than in my bed,” she exclaimed, getting to her feet. “If it all goes badly, I can stop paying you, but I can’t stop loving you! I just can’t!”

John rose to his knees, and took her hands. “It’s okay, it’s okay, I understand,” he said, rubbing his thumbs over her skin soothingly. “I’m not upset, I’m just as frustrated as you are. We’ll figure it out, I know we will.” 

Rose nodded and pulled him to his feet, and John brushed the tears she hadn’t noticed from her cheeks and kissed her gently. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Grandmother visiting is causing me a lot of stress.”

“I’ve noticed,” John said. “It’s making things all sorts of awkward, and I don’t like it either. But I promise I’ll do my best to make things less difficult for you, okay? Anything you need.”

“Thank you,” Rose said. “We should have moved your room, though.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Grandmother’s favourite guest room is between ours, and she’s a very light sleeper.” John groaned and Rose laughed. “We’ll just have to get everything out of our systems tonight.” She pulled him down for a long kiss.

“Race you home?” he asked.

“You’re on.”

They packed up their picnic and replaced the outerwear they’d shed, and they mounted the horses and took off for the House, laughing and joking the whole way. As they approached the House, Rose saw a car pulling up and veered toward the front door, rather than taking the path to the stables. John followed, a little confused. 

“We’re not expecting anyone. I want to see who it is,” Rose called, then slowed to a stop. They dismounted and Rose handed her reins to John. The staff were scrambling out front, and Lady Jacqueline was nowhere to be seen. The driver opened the car door and helped the passenger out.

“Grandmother!” Rose exclaimed. “How lovely to see you. We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow.”

Marion Prentice stood as tall as her small frame allowed, her walking stick over her arm. “Rose, darling,” she said, embracing her granddaughter. “What on earth are you wearing? Are those trousers?”

Rose’s face reddened. “I was just on a ride, Grandmother. I happened to see your car.”

“Is there something wrong with your own saddle that you had to ride astride?” she asked, glancing toward the horses. Rose fumbled for an answer, but she was saved by her mother’s appearance. 

“Mother! Welcome,” she said as they hugged. “It’s so nice you were able to join us a day early.”

“Did I not say I’d be here on Monday?”

Lady Jacqueline’s smile barely faltered. “I would have to re-read your letter. But no matter! We’re glad you’re here.”

John was able to hand the horses off and join the ladies. “Grandmother,” Rose said. “Allow me to introduce John Smith, my agent. John, the Honourable Marion Prentice.”

“A pleasure to meet you, madam,” John said. Mrs. Prentice allowed a perfunctory handshake before turning back to her daughter and granddaughter. 

“Charmed. Honestly, Rose, trousers? And your hair is a mess. You might as well have done a point-to-point!”

Rose did not mention that she planned on joining a race next month, but grit her teeth.

“Mother, you must be tired. We’ve set up the Stratwin room for you, take your time freshening up,” Lady Jacqueline said once they’d entered the hall. Donna led Mrs. Prentice to her room, Jack trailing along with the luggage. As soon as they were out of earshot, Lady Jacqueline visibly slumped. “Of all the days for you to go riding,” she sighed at Rose.

“She wasn’t supposed to be here until tomorrow!” Rose hissed.

“You know that when she gives a date that it’s an estimate!”

“Sorry, I forgot, it’s only been _six years_ since she last visited us.”

Lady Jacqueline shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. Go get changed, both of you. We’ll have tea in the library as soon as she’s ready.”

Rose went upstairs quickly, finding Gwen already waiting for her. “As soon as I heard your grandmother was here, I knew you’d need to change,” she said.

“Thank you, Gwen,” Rose sighed, dropping her hat and gloves on her bed. “I thought the pink dress-”

“With the cream ribbon?” Gwen finished, holding up the garment in question. “It’s the most feminine day dress you own.”

“And the most old-fashioned,” Rose added. “You’re brilliant.”

Gwen helped her change out of her riding habit and fixed her wind-blown hair. Rose found the pearls her grandmother had sent for her eighteenth birthday, and touched up her makeup. 

“The white dress with roses for dinner, I think,” she said. “With the pink topaz hair clips.”

“Of course,” Gwen said. “She gave you those too, yes?”

“Yes. It’s a good thing we already planned out my outfits for her visit instead of waiting until today,” Rose said. “Oh, she’s brought the same maid as last time, I’m afraid.”

“I’ve heard stories about her,” Gwen said. “Since we’ve been bringing in housemaids from the village, we have extra rooms, and Miss Noble is quite happy about that.”

“She would be,” Rose laughed. “They shared last time.” She stood from the vanity and smoothed her skirt, unhappy with the way the dress fell on her. It was only a little more than a year old, and she’d like it when she bought it, but already Rose could tell how differently it fit. _Nothing for it_ , she thought, and headed downstairs.

***

If John bit his tongue one more time, his teacup would fill with blood. _At least then I could get out of here,_ he mused. He found himself increasingly jealous of Tony, who, after coming down to say hello to his grandmother and answer a few of her questions, was sent right back to the school room to take his tea with Clara. It appeared that children, in Mrs. Prentice’s opinion, weren’t even to be seen, never mind heard.

As soon as the adults sat down, Mrs. Prentice had set about interrogating John so smoothly, he’d hardly noticed it was happening. By the time he realised she was setting up conversations just so they would reveal something about him, she had switched to asking very pointed questions that seemed threatening even if they were mundane.

“Rose tells me you’re from Gallifrey. That’s in the north, is it not?”

“Yes, though the opposite coast from Coulmour,” he answered. He’d done his homework, read up on Lady Jacqueline’s hometown, just for the occasion. “It’s a fairly small town, but the centre of a number of mining communities.”

“Who are your parents?” Mrs. Prentice never took her eyes off John, except when it could make him nervous.

“Sydney and Verity. They were teachers at the grammar school.”

“Schoolteachers,” she said flatly.

“Yes. They taught science and art,” John said, his insides beginning to twist. 

“Well, I suppose even miners’ children ought to learn about the finer things in life, even if they won’t experience them,” she said. John didn’t miss Rose’s face turning thunderous. “And how long ago did they retire?”

“They didn’t,” John grit out, glancing at his hands in the only moment he felt his resolve faltering.

“John’s parents died when he was a teenager,” Rose murmured, leaning towards Mrs. Prentice. 

“And how old are you now?” Mrs. Prentice ploughed on as if Rose had just commented on the weather. 

“I’ll be twenty-seven next month,” he said. _Eleven years_ , he noted to himself.

“I presume you’ve been working this whole time.”

“Yes,” John said. “Many places, though I do believe I’ve found a match here in Bucknall.”

“He’s done wonderful work,” Lady Jacqueline gushed, attempting to come to the rescue. “The room you’re in, why, before John came it had been falling apart. But look at it now! The Oak Room’s been restored too, and he built Rose a beautiful study-”

“Yes, he certainly seems to have done well where you could not,” Mrs. Prentice said. “What a shame your husband couldn’t provide for you to keep your house in order.”

Lady Jacqueline gaped like a fish for a moment before collecting herself, but she stayed silent. John and Rose exchanged glances, both wondering what to say next, but Mrs. Prentice filled the silence herself.

“I find the new decor rather too modern, but I suppose there’s no accounting for taste.”

“I chose that myself, Mother.”

“Well,” Mrs. Prentice sniffed, “I could only do so much when it came to teaching you about style.”

John winced and busied himself with preparing a second cup of tea. It was going to be a very long week.


	44. Chapter 44

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strange developments on the Vitex front. John drops the gloves on Mrs. Prentice.

Rose found far too much of her time monopolised by Grandmother Prentice’s visit. How did she not notice as a teenager how _exhausting_ she was? She made a mental note to tell her mother that she understood now why she took to bed for days after seeing the Prentice matriarch.

Thankfully John was on hand to take over a number of the meetings she now had to drop out of because Mrs. Prentice demanded she spend so much time with her. John was happy to do it, given Mrs. Prentice’s continued assaults on his background. He had nearly burst with relief when he came down for breakfast the first morning and learned that Mrs. Prentice would be taking her breakfasts in bed. 

He and Rose had spent that afternoon rearranging their schedules, so a day later, John was inspecting tractors and Rose was doing the most tedious embroidery she’d ever encountered. Rather than work on their own projects together, Mrs. Prentice has roped Rose and Lady Jacqueline into one of her own, a trunk full of baby clothes for her local women’s institute. They’d be distributed to mothers in need, an admirable pursuit to be sure, but ROse felt her time would be better spent on her _own_ charitable pursuits, if any, and that perhaps these poor mothers could do without the Bible verses stitched in their children’s hems. Rose generally liked embroidery, but she feared this endeavour might ruin it for her.

“Now who is it that needs a new tractor?” Lady Jacqueline asked. 

“The Sullivans, though John thinks he could probably repair theirs,” Rose said. “Mickey might help.”

“If anyone could fix it, it’s them,” she said. Lady Jacqueline was also not a fan of this project, and kept the conversation going to she and Rose wouldn’t lose their minds. “Mickey and Martha are settling in well, then?”

“Brilliantly, though they still wish the honeymoon could have been longer. But they’ll be visiting Martha’s family at Christmas.”

“Who’s this?” Mrs. Prentice asked.

“You remember Rose’s friend Mickey Smith,” Lady Jacqueline said. “They were tutored together.”

“That dark child from the automobile shop?”

“He’s one of my dearest friends,” Rose said, choosing to ignore Mrs. Prentice’s disdain. “He just married a friend of mine from college.”

“How lovely of you to get them together,” she said. 

“I hardly set them up, just introduced them.”

“And had them both over to dinner regularly,” Lady Jacqueline teased. “You know I started seating them next to each other on purpose once I saw how well they got along.”

“Right matchmakers, the both of you!” Mrs. Prentice said. “Let’s hope some of that luck rubs off on you, Rose.”

Rose busied herself with the edging on a bonnet and said nothing. Lady Jacqueline laughed awkwardly.

“Oh, Rose will do just fine,” she said. “No use rushing, and besides, she has an estate to manage.”

“She’s twenty-two, you and I were both married with babies by then.”

“Rose is growing up in a different world, Mother,” she retorted. “Ladies can do much more now.”

“She’d still best get out of this trusteeship nonsense, and get herself an heir,” Mrs. Prentice sniffed. “Otherwise who’ll inherit?”

“Tony,” Rose snapped, tired of being talked over. “And that won’t be a problem.”

“Oh? Is there someone after all?” Mrs. Prentice looked suddenly intrigued. 

Rose saw her mother looking at her sadly and tried to smile. She felt bad lying about John, but what else could she do? “No. But I have three years. A lot can happen. And I meet plenty of people through my charity work, and at professional meetings.”

“Rose is very involved with the Copper Foundation,” Lady Jacqueline said. “Why, she’s even started her own project assisting working girls and women.”

“You’re helping… prostitutes?”

Rose stifled a groan. Her mother was trying to help, but this was not a good topic to switch to. “I’m funding education and training programmes so they can have other job prospects.” 

“I suppose that’s an admirable cause,” she sniffed. “Someone ought to help those poor girls off the street.”

Rose hummed vaguely, knowing this was the closest thing to approval she’d get. She dared not mention that these women - and men - worked at a high-end brothel that they probably wouldn’t leave, since they earned a better living there than they could in any factory or office, and had quality room and board included. She glanced at the clock on the mantle. Luncheon could not come soon enough.

***

Late the next morning, Rose managed to get some time in the office with John, both to go over their own work and review some correspondence from Vastra and Jenny. They were still at work in the City, especially keeping an eye on Harold Saxon. They had sent a letter recently noting some suspicious activity at the Vitex plant - an increased number of trucks coming and going, some of which they’d traced back to other, supposedly unrelated Torchwood facilities. A follow-up letter said that there had been both an inspection and a newspaper profile at Vitex recently, followed by still more trucks. These were traced from the other Torchwood buildings to chemical plants near the coast.

“So much for being ‘all-natural’,” Rose remarked. 

“Unless it’s for something else,” John said, tossing the letter down on Rose’s desk. 

“I know you want to go there,” she said, “but wait for Jenny and Vastra to call. They know more than we do.”

Rose and Lady Jacqueline had to take Mrs. Prentice to a garden party at a house that was _just_ too far away to be called a neighbour. It was some acquaintance of Mrs. Prentice’s who she’d informed of her visit. Rose didn’t really want to go, and John didn’t want her to either.

“Say you’re not feeling well,” he said. Rose was already in her party dress, signing a few documents at the last minute. 

“She won’t believe me,” she said. “Nor will she accept anything less than being confined to bed.”

John sighed and swivelled his chair back and forth. “I _miss_ you. And Sullivan wouldn’t let me buy that tractor without you.” John and Mickey’s attempts at repair had, evidently, not gone well - Sullivan had let the machine go far beyond its life expectancy.

“He knows you don’t need my permission.”

“Yes, but he doesn’t _accept_ it,” he said. “Let’s go to the Tower after dinner.”

“We’ve got guests tonight. A few folks from the City, Martha, Mickey, the lot,” she said.

“Oh, because she’ll _love_ them,” he said sarcastically. “Do they know what they’re getting into?”

“Yes, and they’re doing it for you,” Rose said, snapping her pen lid shut. “More people around should take some pressure off of us.”

“We’re going to be so indebted to them.”

“And they know it. I have to go.”

John leapt up and met Rose on her way to the door. “I’m sorry. I know you take on everything she says to your mum and I too.” He pulled her into a hug for a moment, and kissed her before she left. 

“I miss you too, John. Hold down the fort for me.”

“I always will.”

Once Rose was gone, he slumped into his chair, head hanging over the back of it. Last night at dinner, Mrs. Prentice had tutted about how he wasn’t in white tie, criticised the soup, and was incredulous that they only had one footman. He could just imagine how she’d react to Ianto in livery, as he would often be pressed into service when dinner attendance grew large. He thought about warning him, but supposed that everyone downstairs already knew.

As if on cue, Ianto knocked on the door of the study and poked his head in. “Excuse me, Mr. Smith.”

“Come in, Ianto,” he said, sitting up.

“Mr. Mott asked that I come get you. There’s a bit of a… a situation.”

John stood and walked with Ianto to the back stairs. “What kind of situation?”

“A trespasser. Lady Powell has kept those patrols going, and one of them found something - some _one_.” They arrived in the servants’ hall, where the staff who were around were gathered nervously. “He’s in Mr. Mott’s office.”

John knocked and Mr. Mott let him in. Sitting in one of the guest chairs with a cup of tea was a rough-looking, very young boy. John guessed that he couldn’t be older than Tony, difficult as it was to tell with the mop of brown hair in his eyes.

“He was found in the woodcutter’s cabin,” Mr. Mott said. “Didn’t seem to have much on him, except a very large bag of weed plant flowers.”

John’s face hardened as he studied the boy. “Give us a few minutes please, Mr. Mott.” The butler nodded and left, and John pulled up another chair next to the boy.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Toby Avery, my lord.”

John winced. “I’m not a lord. Just John Smith, I’m the agent. Are you from around here?”

“I’m from Henrik, sir.”

“Got family there?”

“Not anymore. Mum just passed in January.”

“I’m so sorry,” John said. “And you’re what, eleven?”

“Ten, sir.”

John rubbed a hand over his face, then leaned forward, elbows on his arms. “I suppose you’ve got a reason for hiding in our cabin with all that weed plant, Toby Avery.” Toby fidgeted and looked at his feet. “What I’m hoping,” John continued, “is that it’s a good reason, so I don’t have to be upset with you.”

Toby visibly swallowed before mumbling an answer. “I need the money, sir.”

 _Of course_ , John thought. “And how did you think you’d get it from weed plant?”

“A man said he’d pay me a shilling a bag for it, and t that I could find lots out here,” Toby said. “Someone drops me off near the meadow in the morning, and comes back for me at sundown.”

Toby was starting to sniffle, so John passed him a handkerchief. “How long has this been going on?”

“Two weeks. I take naps in the cabin sometimes when it gets too hot.”

Two weeks. The kid was good at hiding his tracks; he and Rose hadn’t noticed anything amiss in the cabin or meadow at all. “What’s this man’s name? Do you know why he wants the flowers?”

“He didn’t tell me why he wanted them, but his name was Mr. Rattigan. He’s not the one who brings me out here, though.”

“No, he wouldn’t,” John muttered. “Has he been paying you?”

“Every day, sir. You’re not going to take it away, are you? I need the money, sir, it’s the best I’ve ever earned.”

John’s heart broke for the kid, but he couldn’t let him keep working for Vitex. “You’ll get paid, don’t worry. When’s the last time you ate?”

“Toast this morning, sir.”

John got up and started for the door. “I’ll have Mrs. Grant fix you something.”

“You’re not going to call the police?”

“No. You’re just trying to take care of yourself, I’ve been there too,” he said. “But you shouldn’t be working for that man. He’s dangerous.”

“I’ve got to work though!”

“I think we can find you a better job than this, Toby Avery,” John said, winking as he left the room.

Everyone was still in the servants’ hall. “Well?” Mrs. Smith asked.

“He’s just a kid trying to make a little money,” John sighed. “Unfortunately, it’s from the same man I’m stuck with.” Donna and Jack grimaced. “He’s on his own. Can you get him cleaned up and give him something to eat? I need to make some calls.”

“Then what?” Jack asked. “Where will he go?”

John shrugged. “I need to talk to Rose. We can put him up while we figure things out, can’t we?”

“Of course we can,” said Mrs. Smith, getting up from the table. “You know you don’t have to ask, John. We’ll get him settled.” She bustled off to take care of it herself.

“But can we trust him?” Jack asked. “He’s working for Saxon.”

“He’s a child, Jack!” Donna exclaimed. “How could he be a threat?”

“Like John said, he needs the money. Desperate people, even children, can always be bought.”

“Then we offer him more,” Ianto, quiet until now, suggested. “Give him a proper job, here in the House.”

“He needs a family, an education, not servitude,” Donna said. “He can make that choice when he’s older.”

“None of that matters without Lady Powell’s approval,” Mr. Mott declared, ending the argument. “John, we’ll take care of Toby until you come to a decision.”

“Thank you, Mr. Mott,” John said. He excused himself and went back upstairs.

John worried about what might happen when Rattigan’s man showed up and Toby wasn’t there. Toby would be safe in the House, but surely some ripples would be felt through Vitex. He never did reach any kind of agreement with Saxon about the _H. vitae_ ; that had been pre-empted by Saxon’s ultimatum back in February. He shouldn’t be too surprised, now was the plant’s peak season. Toby couldn’t be the only one harvesting it, that would be too inefficient. He’d have to ask the boy more questions later. 

In the meantime, he picked up the phone and rang Vitex. “Put Saxon on, please,” he said to the secretary.

“May I ask who is calling?”

“John Smith. It’s a matter of great urgency.” John couldn’t remember the secretary’s name, but he did know she never been particularly friendly. After a long silence, Saxon came on.

“Theta! I didn’t expect you to call me. What can I do for you?”

 _Stop ruining my life_ , John thought. “I just wanted to let you know that we apprehended one of Mr. Rattigan’s harvesters on the estate.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“We found a boy, hired by Rattigan, harvesting _Herbabaculum vitae_ on the estate. Please let Mr. Rattigan know that we will have all future trespassers arrested.”

Saxon was quiet for a long moment. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention, John. I was unaware of this venture.”

“Like hell you were,” John snapped. “You keep too close an eye on your operations to let things fall through the cracks like this. If you wanted to purchase the plant from us, we could have come to an arrangement.”

“Will we be seeing you again soon, John?” Saxon asked. “We have _so_ much to discuss.”

“I’ll think about it.” John hung up without saying goodbye and strode back to the Great Hall. 

He stood in the middle of the intricate rug, entirely unsure of what to do with himself. He still wasn’t used to being alone upstairs. Even Tony was out; Clara had taken him to a museum. John plopped into a chair by the fireplace, long legs askew, and tried to think.

***

When Rose got home, she saw John sprawled out asleep in the Great Hall and rushed to wake him up.

“Straighten yourself out before Grandmother sees you,” she hissed as John started and jumped to his feet. 

“Rose! I need to talk to you. Very important.”

“After I get changed. We were there for longer than I planned and it’s almost time for dinner.”

John glanced at the grandfather clock and bit back a curse, looking around to make sure Lady Jacqueline and Mrs. Prentice had left. “How about you change, I talk?”

Rose sighed and headed upstairs. “Fine. But quickly, you have to get ready too.”

John followed her up and sat in a chair in the corner while Rose rang for Gwen. He told her everything that had happened, ignoring Gwen’s funny look when she came in. 

“Gwen, did you meet this boy?” Rose asked.

“I did,” she said. “He’s sweet, very anxious though. His father joined the Navy when he was a baby and never came back. Now he’s just lost his mother.”

“Poor child,” Rose murmured. “I’d like to meet him, and have Mum meet him, before we make any decisions. And perhaps we ought to wait until Grandmother leaves, as well. I don’t want to have to ward off her opinions.”

“I’m sure her maid has already told her,” Gwen said. 

“That’s true,” Rose said. “Tell Mr. Mott and Mrs. Smith to arrange for Toby to stay the week, give him something to do if he’d like. Now John, get a move on, everyone will be here soon.”

***

Rose and Lady Jacqueline’s plan to take Mrs. Prentice’s attention away from John by increasing the guest list worked fairly well, for a fair portion of the evening. Dr. Shaw and Mr. Copper joined Martha, Mickey, Clara, and Danny Pink at dinner, and John couldn’t help but notice the increasing alarm on Mrs. Prentice’s face as she realised she’d be dining with a mechanic, a teacher, a tutor, an eccentric, and not one, but _two_ lady doctors. She had installed herself on a settee in the drawing room as cocktails were served and the guests arrived, and seemed to barely comprehend the range of people being introduced.

“We might need to break out the smelling salts,” Martha remarked, as they watched her grapple with meeting Danny Pink. 

“If she faints, we’ll have a much nicer evening,” John muttered.

“Stop it,” Rose said, trying not to laugh. “She’ll hear.”

As if on cue, Mrs. Prentice looked in their direction, and they all had to stifle laughs. “You’re both terrible,” Rose said, smiling as she did, heading over to sit with her grandmother for a while.

“Looks like everyone’s here, Grandmother,” she said. “Dinner will start any minute.”

“And not a moment too soon. Honestly, Rose,” Mrs. Prentice sniffed, “you’ll never find a husband with this lot. Not a peer among them!”

“I know, Grandmother, but this isn’t the marriage market,” Rose said. “It’s just dinner with friends.”

“Well, perhaps one of them knows someone. Take any invitation that seems promising, dear.”

Rose nodded absently, and flooded with relief when Mr. Mott came in and announced that dinner was served. She filed in with everyone else and settled into place. She still wasn’t used to holding a central role at the table, especially in larger groups where there was always someone raising an eyebrow at the unconventional order of precedence in her household. Her friends didn’t think twice about it, but for all that, this was the first time Rose felt any real trepidation about seating arrangements. She’d actually worked on them with Lady Jacqueline, trusting her mother’s judgement even if she nervously questioned it. But with her, her mother, John, and her grandmother spaced evenly, it seemed to be a balanced table with a set of ears in every direction. 

Until the third course, the family’s concerns seemed to not be met. Mrs. Prentice seemed no more curmudgeonly than normal, just voicing her opinions (usually dissenting) in perfect finishing school form. Rose did noticed that she seemed to be ignoring anyone at the table who wasn’t white, and confirmed this with Mickey via the silent eyebrow raises and smirks they’d used since they were children. But as another round of plates were cleared and replaced, Mr. Copper got the bright idea to bring up the election.

“Lady Powell, I hear you’ll be hosting the Prime Minister on election night,” he said. 

“That’s right,” Rose answered. “Madame Jones will be returning to Bucknall in a few days, and we’ll be having her supporters over to celebrate a good campaign.”

“And we’ll have the wireless out to hear the results come in,” Lady Jacqueline added. 

“How grand!” Mr. Copper exclaimed. “You know, this is the first time they’ve covered a federal election on the wireless. Why, one day we’ll be able to see the results of each vote, as they’re counted, in real time!”

Rose smiled, ready to answer - Mr. Copper’s enthusiasm for innovation and the human spirit was always infectious - but Mrs. Prentice had other concerns.

“Oh Rose, you’re going to be filling this house with _politicians_?” she tsked. “And social reformers at that! If Harriet Jones wins another term, this country will go to the dogs, mark my words.”

Rose took a centring sip of wine. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Grandmother. I’ve seen her government do a great many things to help people over the past four years.”

Mr. Copper nodded his agreement. “Oh yes. My foundation keeps a close eye on these things. We’ve seen unemployment go down, more children in school, and a reduction in the number of infectious diseases. It’s quite remarkable!”

Mrs. Prentice was not deterred, and seemed quite nonplussed that she was sitting right next to Mr. Copper, a dyed-in-the-wool social reformer. “And meanwhile, the great families of this land, whose taxes pay for such improvements, are one by one driven from their homes! Why, just last month the Stratwins _and_ the Underbrandts both had to hold estate auctions, and the Osfields have given up their home entirely and moved to the City! I tell you, these reformers won’t stop until every last one of us is destitute.”

“You’ve got a pretty strange definition of ‘destitute,’” John muttered, just loud enough for Rose to hear - and Mrs. Prentice too.

“I beg your pardon?”

Rose saw the set of his jaw and furrow in his brow, and braced herself. “I said, I think you have a pretty strange definition of what ‘destitute’ means,” John repeated, looking Mrs. Prentice straight in the eye. “I’ve been there myself, doing whatever it took just to survive. If it weren’t for the generosity of the people you denigrate as ‘social reformers,’ I and many others would be dead right now.” John’s fingers had tightened around his utensils, every muscle straining to contain the anger and frustration from enduring Mrs. Prentice all week. “So you’ll forgive me if I’m not sympathetic to people who might have to move from an enormous home to one that’s merely large, or sell off a few ostentatious knick-knacks. They don’t know real poverty, and probably never will, and _certainly_ couldn’t survive it.”

In the hush that followed, Rose desperately wanted to rush around the table and soothe John’s rage. She was thankful that Clara was next to John, able to rest a reassuring hand on his arm, and that several people and a large expanse of mahogany were between him and her grandmother.

“That’s quite the opinion you have, considering your station now,” Mrs. Prentice said.

“My current position does not change my previous experience,” John retorted, “nor does it alter the reality that there is a class of people in this country who would maintain a ridiculously extravagant lifestyle while their fellow citizens starve.”

“Hear, hear,” Mickey murmured.

“Jacqueline, Rose,” Mrs. Prentice snapped, “will you continue to sit by and allow your staff to abuse me?”

Rose took a breath to reply, but her mother spoke first. “I agree with Mr. Smith,” Lady Jacqueline said. “We have a duty, I think, to help those in need, and since Peter died we’ve been doing with much less to no ill effect. In fact, I rather like keeping things simple around here.”

‘Simple’ for Lady Jacqueline was still a lot compared to many people, but Rose swelled with pride. She had to admit, her mother had changed - she’d softened, loosened her expectations, become more generous. The happiness and well-being of her family had always come first, but those definitions had shifted, and it seemed to sit well on her.

“Besides, Mr. Smith earned his position here,” Lady Jacqueline continued, “and I’ll thank you not to insult his integrity, Mother.”

Mrs. Prentice turned to Rose for an ally. “Rose, you’re rather quiet on all this,” Isn’t this supposed to be _your_ dinner table?”

“It is, thank you for acknowledging it,” Rose said. “Grandmother, I appreciate that you’ve had a certain experience of the world. But things change, and I believe that, at home and as well as in government, empathy and compassion must be central to our values, much moreso than tradition. I’m proud of our household, and I’m proud of our Prime Minister. Perhaps if the Stratwins, Underbrandts, and Osfields of the world were better able to adapt, their circumstances would seem much less tragic.” She tried to make her pronouncement as final as possible, hoping it would put an end to the topic. Amazingly, it worked - Mrs. Prentice merely _hmph_ ed and turned back to her meal. 

Rose sat frozen for a moment before realising that the other guests were waiting on her before they proceeded. She mentally brushed herself off and turned to Martha and Dr. Shaw to ask some innocuous questions about the surgery, and the meal continued. Mrs. Prentice excused herself early rather than stay for coffee, much to everyone’s relief. 

“I’m so sorry,” Rose said, addressing the group generally. “I hope you’ve all still had a good time.”

“Oh, don’t worry yourself dear,” Mr. Copper said. “We need a bit of disagreement now and then. Keeps us on our toes.”

Rose smiled weakly, and kept the gathering going as port and coffee were poured. She took a moment to sit next to John and take his hand. 

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Hm? Oh. Yes, I’m all right,” he said.

“She was so far out of line. I’m sorry, I was just so stunned…”

“You were fine. And your mother, well,” he said, the corners of his mouth turning up, “that was rather unexpected, actually.”

“It shouldn’t be. She _does_ like you, John.” Rose squeezed his fingers where they lay on the couch between them. “I’ll speak to Grandmother tomorrow. I can’t have this continuing.”

“It’s okay, Rose, she’ll be leaving soon anyway.”

Rose shook her head. “No. I’ve had enough. You don’t deserve this.”

Martha and Mickey approached. “We’re going to head home,” Martha said. “Mr. Pink is catching a lift back into town with us.”

Rose and John stood, exchanging farewell hugs and handshakes. “Chin up, mate,” Danny said to John. “The old lady thought I was a footman, and I’m not sure if she was more or less scandalised when she found out I was a guest.”

“Really?” Rose exclaimed. “Oh, that is - ugh. I’m so sorry.”

Danny shrugged. “I’ve been called worse things. I just remind myself that her lot are on their way out.”

“Amen to that,” said Mickey. “We’ll see you soon.”

They were the last guests, and Clara went upstairs, leaving John and Rose in the library alone. Rose downed the rest of her port in one gulp and sank back onto the couch with John, leaning against his side. He put his arm around her and drew aimless patterns on her upper arm with his fingertips, nuzzled her hair and pressed soft kisses to her forehead.

“We still need to decide what to do about that boy,” she murmured.

“Tomorrow,” John said. “He’ll be safe here, and I can go deal with Rattigan, see what Vitex is up to while I’m at it.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“You’ve got the election party to work on.”

“Mum can handle it without me for a day.”

“Even with your grandmother around?” Rose groaned and snuggled closer. “We’ll talk about that tomorrow too. It’s time for bed.”

“Just a little longer,” Rose said. “It’s nice here by the fire.”

It was, warm and comforting, so they sat silently together until Rose fell asleep.


	45. Chapter 45

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John tries to stop Saxon from going off the deep end. Rose tries the domestic approach. There's officially a new member of the household at Bucknall House.

Lady Jacqueline was not thrilled with Rose for ‘abandoning’ her to Grandmother Prentice, especially since the timeline for her departure had suddenly become vague, and Rose wasn’t sure when she’d be back from the City either.

“Mum says Grandmother plans on staying at least another week,” Rose explained to John in the car to the train station. 

“We’ll have to take our time in the City, then,” he joked.

Rose scowled. “She’ll be there for the election. I do hope she just stays up in her room for the party.”

“She’d probably have a heart attack if she came down,” John said. “Don’t worry, she goes to bed early. She’ll be gone by the time everyone arrives.”

The train ride was quiet and productive, since they’d brought a stack of paperwork and correspondence to attend to. Vastra and Jenny’s driver picked them up, but John wanted to go directly to the Vitex factory. Rose had to convince him to not be rude, and stay for lunch first.

It was a good thing, too. They were able to see the photographs Jenny and Vastra had of the factory and the mysterious trucks. They’d even managed a few snaps of the contents, large barrels and drums stamped with codes. John was incensed.

“That’s spectrox. He’s still buying the cheap spectrox,” he said.

“You told me that stuff was toxic,” Rose said.

“Unrefined it is, yes. And the company he’s been buying from doesn’t refine it well though. I told him to stop using it while I tried to fix what he had in stock, but I never could do it,” he explained.

“There’s also this,” Jenny said, handing John a file. “New research on spectrox and its effects on brain function. It does improve it, but it turns out that long term, it’s addictive. Incredibly so.”

“He’s putting people in danger with a product they’re going to crave,” Rose murmured. “Has this study been published?”

Jenny shook her head. “It was commissioned by Torchwood for internal use only. Our mole copied this for us.”

“I have to talk to him,” John said, tossing his napkin on the table.

“We need to expose him!” Vastra argued. “If we leak this, and all the other information we have about his products, the working conditions, it will destroy him. No one will trust him or his products. He definitely won’t win the election.”

“I know,” John said. “But I knew him before all this. I need to give him a chance to make things right.”

“Well, while you talk to him, I’m going to pay his wife a visit,” Rose said. “Take the domestic approach.”

***

Rose called on Lucy at the Saxons’ townhouse the next afternoon. While she welcomed Rose’s company, she was oddly quiet, even for someone as subdued as she was. They took tea in the parlour, chatting about clothes and social happenings, before Rose turned the subject to business.

“Harold and John have been working _so_ hard, haven’t they?” Lucy sighed. “Between Vitex and the campaign, I hardly see Harry anymore.”

“Don’t you go to campaign events with him?” Rose asked.

“Oh, yes, but that’s hardly what you could call ‘quality time!’ There’s always someone else to talk to, and they’re in the most boring places.” Lucy sighed and sipped her tea. “I ask to stay home sometimes, but Harry gets dreadfully upset when I do.”

Rose noticed Lucy fidget with the cuff of her sweater - she was wearing long sleeves even in the June heat, with an incongruously large bracelet. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s all for the election,” Lucy said. “People are more receptive to a candidate with a family. That’s what Harry says.”

“That’s true,” Rose agreed. Lucy seemed to be getting anxious, and Rose found herself less concerned with what she could learn about Vitex, and more with the well-being of the woman in front of her. “Lucy,” she said gently, “are you happy here?”

“Of course,” Lucy said brightly. “I have a lovely home, a good position, anything I could ever want.”

“But are you _happy_?” Rose asked again. “Does Harold make you happy?”

Lucy averted her gaze from Rose’s and set aside her tea. “He provides for me. He made my past disappear. I’m a respectable woman now. I can’t ask for more.”

Rose wanted to push, get Lucy to tell her more about her relationship, but she saw the fragility in her eyes and decided against it. “Does he tell you much about Vitex? John just can’t shut up about it.”

“Nothing in detail, just how it’s going to make us incredibly rich,” she said. “As if it hasn’t already.”

“What makes him say that?”

“He’s got this new formula, says people won’t be able to live without it,” Lucy said. “Of course, he won’t say _why_. Did John not work on it?”

“No, I don’t think he had a hand in that one,” Rose said. She glanced at the clock on the mantle. “I suppose I ought to be going, John and I have plans for the evening.”

Lucy walked Rose to the door. “Thank you so much for stopping in. I don’t get to spend much time with other women outside the campaign.”

“Any time,” Rose said. Lucy clasped Rose’s hands and delivered air kisses to both her cheeks. “Lucy - I want you to know, you can call or write to me whenever you want.” She pulled two calling cards out of her purse. “This one’s mine, and this one is the friends I usually stay with when I’m in the City. If you ever need help-”

“Now whatever would I need help with?” Lucy asked, turning the cards over in her hands.

Rose shrugged. “Anything. Or maybe you’ll just need a friend, or want to have tea.”

“A friend would be nice,” Lucy said. “Thank you, Rose.”

“Thanks for the tea.” As she headed down the walkway, she chanced a look back at Lucy. She stood in the doorway, looking at the cards, a little smile on her face.

***

John hadn’t gotten anywhere at Vitex, and he grumbled about it the whole evening. Saxon had been erratic, ranting and rambling about the latest formulas and increased sales, throwing around outlandish ideas with impossible timelines. Rattigan, meanwhile, wasn’t around, so John was determined to go back the next day.

To his surprise, Rattigan was glad to see him, dragging John into his office and checking the hall before shutting the door. 

“Thank God you’re here,” he said, pulling the shades and striding to his desk. “Drink?”

“No, thank you,” John said, watching as Rattigan poured himself two fingers of something brown, downed it, and poured another. “What’s going on?”

“Saxon’s gone off his rocker. He’s creating new formulas, increasing production goals faster than we can achieve them, demanding that everyone stay until they’re done. I haven’t been home in a week. Some of the workers haven’t had a day off in a month.”

“That’s illegal,” John said.

“I know,” Rattigan said. “Try explaining that to the boss, though. He threatens to fire anyone who leaves. Sometimes they don’t get out until midnight.”

“Has anyone reported this?”

“When would I have _time_?” Rattigan exclaimed. “And the staff, they’re terrified of it getting back to them. They need their jobs.”

“I’ll call the Ministry of Labour myself, then,” John said.

Rattigan shook his head. “You know that’ll set him off. We’ll _all_ lose our jobs,” he said. “You need to talk some sense into him. You’re the only one he listens to.”

“I saw him yesterday, he sure as hell wasn’t listening then,” John scoffed. “Besides, I came to see _you_ today.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. Sending children out to Bucknall to steal weed plant, pretty sure that’s against the law as well,” he said. “Did you think we wouldn’t notice? And did _you_ not notice? We took the boy in last week.”

“We need the plant. With Saxon’s targets-”

“Then you should have _asked_. Lady Powell and I might have been willing to make an arrangement. Instead, we’re paying for extra security on the estate that we shouldn’t need.”

“I’m sorry,” Rattigan huffed. “I’ll call them off. But you still need to do something about Saxon.”

“I told you, I tried talking to him.”

“Then try again! Try something else!” he shouted. “I’m at my wit’s end, Smith. He’s turned into a tyrant. I’m worried about more than just the factory.” He tossed a stack of papers across the desk. “He wants to allow small amounts of unrefined spectrox, because it’s more habit-forming. And this is a collection of policy proposals for when he gets elected.” He pulled out another folder. “Rolling back regulations, loosening standards - anything that would let all business owners run like this place. I wouldn’t be concerned, but he’s actually polling well.”

John sighed, ran a hand through his hair. “Is he in today?”

“No, he’s at a campaign event. He’ll be back the day before voting, his party’s being held at a hotel near his house.”

“I’ll have to speak with him then,” John said, and headed for the door.

“Good luck!”

***

Stymied, Rose and John went home. The election was in two days. Rose had a party to prepare for, but John only had time to brood. If he wasn’t going to call the authorities, he needed a new way of trying to talk to Saxon.

“I wish I could help,” Rose said, “but I barely have room in my mind for this party.” They were preparing cheques and completing invoices for the vendors and extra staff they’d contracted for the party.

“It’s okay,” Johns aid, accepting the last cheque to sign. “Wait. I don’t have to be there, do I?”

Rose smiled wryly. “You don’t _have_ to, but I’d like you to come,” she said. “You don’t have to stay the whole time.”

“Deal,” John said. “I’m going to try to talk to Saxon first thing in the morning.”

“As long as you’re back here in time.”

There was a knock on the door of the study, and Rose called out permission to enter. Jack came in and nodded briefly. 

“Telephone for you, John. A Mr. Rattigan, from Vitex.”

John raised an eyebrow, but excused himself to take the call. When it seemed to be going on for a long time, Rose went to investigate.

She nearly ran into John coming around the corner. “Looks like I need to go now. Rattigan says Saxon’s back early and he’s completely lost it. He’s locked the doors to the factory and says no one can leave until they’ve filled five thousand cases.”

“And he didn’t just call the police?!” Rose exclaimed.

John shook his head. “He seems to think that’ll just make things worse. Jack,” he said to the footman, “have Strax bring the truck around, but tell him I’m driving myself.”

“I’m coming with you,” Rose said, following him towards the front door. 

“No, you still have too much to do here,” John said. “And he’s dangerous right now. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“I don’t want _you_ to get hurt either!” Rose cried. “At least talk to Vastra and Jenny. Don’t go in there alone.”

“I won’t. Promise.” He cupped Rose’s face in his hands, leaned down, and kissed her gently, letting his lips linger against her as her fingers gripped the lapels of his jacket. “I’ll be home tonight.”

“I love you. Be safe.”

“I love you too.”

Jack was clearing his throat at the door, so John gave Rose a last quick kiss, then hurried out to the truck.

Rose sighed and went to return to her study, but was waylaid by Mrs. Smith. 

“Your ladyship, might have you have a moment to meet our young guest?”

“Pardon? Oh, Toby Avery. Yes, certainly. Bring him up to the library,” Rose said. 

When they arrived there, Mrs. Smith gently urged Toby into the room ahead of her, telling him to say hello. He was wearing some of Tony’s old play clothes, older ones than Rose would have thought, since he was quite small for his age.

“Hello, your ladyship,” he said, looking at the floor shyly.

“Hello, Toby. Why don’t both of you sit down?” Rose said, directing him and Mrs. Smith to the couch across from her. “Tell me about yourself, Toby. How old are you?”

“I’m ten, your ladyship.” 

“I understand from Mr. Smith that you’ve been on your own since winter. Is that right?”

“Yes, your ladyship.”

Rose smiled a little. “You don’t have to say that after every sentence, Toby. I find it gets a little annoying, don’t you?” He didn’t answer. “What kind of things do you like to do? For fun, if you’re not working.”

“Um, I like to read, and I like cricket, though I don’t get to play very much.” 

“What do you like to read?”

“Stories about the sea, and ships,” he said. “My dad was in the Navy.”

“I think we have a few of those around here,” Rose said. “Do you like it here at Bucknall House?”

“It’s the biggest house I’ve ever seen,” Toby said. “It’s amazing. And everyone’s really nice, and the food’s really good. Some of the rooms, they’re as big as my old flat!”

“I take that as a yes,” Rose said. “Now, I have one more very important question for you, Toby, and I want you to think very carefully about the answer.” Toby nodded vehemently. “What do you wish you could be doing right now?”

“At this very moment?” Toby asked, bewildered.

“Not necessarily,” Rose laughed, catching Mrs. Smith’s kind smile. “I suppose it’s more of a choice - would you rather continue working, or do something else? Go to school, perhaps?”

“I would _love_ to go to school,” Toby answered, eyes growing wide. “I loved going, before Mum died.”

“That settles it,” she said.

“It does?” 

“It does, if you agree,” Rose said. “You can stay here, Toby, as long as you like, and we’ll make sure you go to school. Or, I can speak with my brother’s tutor and see if she’s willing to take you on. Tony’s about your age, and I think you’d get on really well. Of course if you’d rather be with other children in the village, that’s quite all- oh!”

Toby had launched himself off the couch and to Rose’s side, flinging his arms around her. “Thank you, your ladyship! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“You’re welcome,” Rose said, hugging Toby back. “If you live here, though, you’re going to learn to be a proper gentleman. Manners, nice clothes, hobbies, all that. We’re going to treat you just like we treat Tony, accounting for all you still have to catch up on, of course. Does that sound okay to you?”

“Yes, yes, your ladyship. Thank you so much!” 

“It’s almost time for Tony’s school break. Let’s find you some books to read until he comes down,” Rose said, getting up. “Mrs. Smith, please see to it that a bedroom near Tony’s is prepared for Toby. I’ll speak with Ianto about getting him clothes and Clara about bringing Mr. Pink in for a school assessment.”

“Yes, your ladyship,” Mrs. Smith said, nodding, as Rose led Toby to a bookshelf where she was certain they had some books on sailing.

***

Tony and Toby got along like a house on fire, much to Rose and Lady Jacqueline’s delight. Clara was happy to let him sit in on Tony’s lessons for the rest of the afternoon, and Tony seemed excited to have a new friend right in his own house. With that going well, Rose forced herself to get through the rest of the day, until dinner rolled around and there had been no word from John. She resigned herself to an awkward dinner with just her mother and grandmother.

“I’m sure he’s just fine, sweetheart,” Lady Jacqueline said. 

“I know,” Rose said, though she didn’t know at all. “I just worry.”

“What kind of job makes a man dash off with no notice?” Mrs. Prentice tutted. 

“Well, doctors and surgeons, police officers, livestock farmers,” Lady Jacqueline said.

“There was an emergency at the factory, I told you,” Rose said. 

“He should have sent someone else to take care of it,” Mrs. Prentice argued. “Honestly, running off like that? And why does he have a second job anyway? I would worry about his loyalty to the family if I were you.”

“It’s a good thing you’re not, then,” Rose muttered.

“Pardon me?”

“Rose…” Lady Jacqueline warned.

“No, Mum,” she said. “Grandmother, you invited _yourself_ here, arrived without warning, extended your stay without asking permission, and you’ve done nothing but insult me, my mother, and my staff since you came. Whatever your opinions, this is _our_ home, and we do not have to tolerate this behaviour just because you are a guest.”

“I am your elder, young lady-”

“Yes. _Lady_. Lady of this house, and this estate. _I_ set the rules and make the decisions here, like my parents before me. I will ask you, kindly, to mind your tongue while under _my_ roof, and demonstrate the manners you’ve had so many years to perfect. If you’re unable to do so, I can recommend somewhere else you might stay.”

“Well, I never! Jacqueline, where on Earth did your daughter learn such behaviour?”

“I believe her father and I taught her to stand up for herself,” Lady Jacqueline said mildly. “She does it well.”

Mrs. Prentice was still sputtering when the last course came out. From in the hall, they heard the telephone ring.

“Do people really use that infernal instrument at this hour?” Mrs. Prentice grumbled.

“I’m sure they wouldn’t be calling this late if it wasn’t important,” Lady Jacqueline said, as Rose dismissed Mr. Mott to answer it. He returned shortly and asked for Rose.

“A Madam Vastra, my lady. I told her you were at dinner, but-”

Rose was out of the room before Mr. Mott could finish. She pressed the earpiece to her ear and asked, “Vastra? Is John okay?”

“John? I’ve not heard from him since this afternoon, he said he was going to Vitex,” Vastra said. “I needed to ask, how well do you know Lucy Saxon?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the penultimate chapter! The final one is written and will go up sometime in the middle of August, and the epilogue will go up on my birthday, September 2. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	46. Chapter 46

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This the last chapter! There will be an epilogue on September 2. This chapter contains violence, fire, and death - the final showdown.

John pulled up in front of the Vitex factory and raced up to the front doors. Locked, of course, but he could pick it in his sleep. The burly man who had guarded him before was waiting on the other side, but to John’s surprise, he looked relieved to see him.

“Where is he?” John asked.

“The catwalk about the bottling floor, last I saw,” the burly man said.

John sprinted down the hall to the bottling line, and sure enough, Saxon was pacing back and forth on the catwalk, shouting at the terrified workers below. Rattigan came from behind him and pulled John to the side of the doorway.

“What are you going to do?” he asked.

“Talk to him, first,” John said. “I’ll get him into the lab. Once we’re there, send everybody home. Just get them out of the factory. I don’t want them around if…”

“If what?”

“I’ve seen him like this before. Nobody else needs to.”

That seemed to be enough for Rattigan, and he let John continue. He climbed the stairs to the catwalk, calling to Saxon as he did. 

“Koschei!”

“Theta Sigma! Good to see you again!” Saxon shouted. “Look at this! Twenty-four hour production. We’ll have five thousand cases, all to celebrate my victory!”

“Wow,” John said, approaching slowly. “Let’s go have a chat in the lab, eh? I want to talk about these new formulas.”

“Brilliant!” Saxon crowed, throwing an arm around John’s shoulders. “You know, Theta, I’ve known this day would come ever since we were kids.”

“Oh really?” John said as they left the bottling room.

“Yes. It’s like this _seed_ was planted all those years ago, planted in my _mind_ , and only now is it finally blooming. Blooming into a great tree of success!”

John wasn’t sure the metaphor worked, but he let it go. They were at the lab anyway. “Listen, Koschei, I think you’re working your staff a little hard.”

“Nonsense! They’re tough. And if they can’t handle it, too bad. It’s best we weed out the weak now.”

“Pardon?”

“I can’t have anyone but the best working for me. Not in this factory, not in my political office, and in four years when I’m Prime Minister, not in my country! Vitex will only be the start.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I call it ‘strengthening the populous,’” Saxon said, waving a hand. “Vitex is well on its way to becoming the number one health product in the country. The new formulas will make it outstrip all the others.”

“By getting people _addicted_ ,” John said. “I saw the spectrox research. Of course, those will be the people who don’t die from it right away!”

“But with the _Herbabaculum vitae_ , the rest will be smarter, stronger, more efficient workers,” Saxon explained. “I’ve tested it on all my staff. Productivity is through the roof!”

“Koschei, innocent people will die.”

“That’s a necessary sacrifice for progress,” he said, turning to the window.

“You don’t even know that it’ll work that way!” John exclaimed. 

The door to the lab creaked open, and to John’s surprise and horror, Lucy Saxon stepped in. “Harold, darling, you missed dinner.”

“Sorry, dear, Mr. Smith and I have important business to attend to,” Saxon said, artificial sweetness dripping off his words. “My wife, she worries, you see,” he said to John. “But when I’m through, she’ll be our First Lady. How wonderful that will be!”

Before John could formulate a reply, the building shook and a loud blast sounded. “Is this part of the plan too?” he snapped.

Saxon looked rattled, but Lucy was oddly serene. A breathless Rattigan burst into the room. “Fire,” he gasped, “near the shipping warehouse.”

“That’s right next to the fuel tanks,” John said. “We have to get out, there won’t be much time before this whole place goes up.”

“You heard the man, let’s go,” Saxon said, ushering the others out.

Rattigan and John led the way, through a hall rapidly filling with smoke. “The staff have been evacuated,” Rattigan told John. “The fire brigade’s been called, and-”

_BANG._

They whipped around. Saxon was frozen in place, his face morphing from shock to pain before he collapsed to the floor. Behind him, Lucy’s shaking hands held up a small pistol.

“Get her out of here!” John snapped, and Rattigan ushered Lucy down the hall, tossing the gun away. John knelt next to Saxon, trying to help him up. “Come on. We have to go.”

Blood was soaking through both sides of Saxon’s clothes, and he laughed weakly. “And watch my life burn? I’ve done that once before, Theta. I won’t do it again.”

“You can rebuild. The election is the day after tomorrow - you can still do something good.”

Another explosion, this one closer. “You and I both know that won’t happen,” Saxon whispered. His eyes slipped closed, and his body went limp in John’s arms.

“Koschei. _Koschei_!” John shouted. He heard footsteps behind him, and Jenny’s voice.

“He’s over here!”

Numbly, he let Jenny and Vastra pull him to his feet and out of the factory as further explosions engulfed it. They shoved him into his own truck, Vastra hopped in the driver’s seat, and peeled out the gates. 

John chanced a look back, just in time to see the glass blow out of the factory’s front windows.

***

Before he knew it, John was in Jenny and Vastra’s parlour, a cup of tea being pushed into his hands. Rattigan was getting the same treatment across the room, looking as stunned as John felt. He and Lucy had been ushered into Jenny and Vasta’s car with their driver, Rattigan frantic and Lucy catatonic. Jenny fussed over Lucy upstairs, setting her up in a guest room before coming back down.

“Who _are_ you?” Rattigan asked.

“Friends of John and Lady Powell,” Vastra said. “Mrs. Saxon telephoned here looking for Rose. She was in quite a state, and didn’t want to talk to us, but once we determined who she was…”

“It wasn’t difficult to figure out where to go. Especially after we telephoned Rose and she told us where _you_ were, John,” Jenny finished. “Since you were so vague with us earlier.”

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I need to get home.”

“You need to rest and eat something before you even _think_ about going anywhere,” Vastra said. “You’re a wreck.” She herded them into the dining room for a cold supper.

“Rose needs to know I’m okay,” John insisted.

“I’ll call her now. I promised to tell her about Lucy as well,” Jenny said.

“Tell her to wait for me up in the tower. I’ll be home tonight.”

Jenny nodded, and stepped out to use the telephone. Rattigan insisted that he had to get back to the factory and speak with the authorities, who would surely be on the scene by now. 

“And tell them what?” Vastra asked.

“That there was a fire, and I evacuated the workers.”

“Yeah, and the body with a gunshot wound is just a coincidence,” John said. “They’ll suspect arson _and_ murder.”

“I’m going to confess.”

Lucy had appeared in the doorway to the dining room. John and Rattigan shot to their feet.

“Are you sure?” Vastra asked. “No one needs to know you were there.”

“At least fifty workers saw me come in as they were leaving,” she said. “I started the fire. I shot him. I couldn’t - I couldn’t let him keep hurting other people. I couldn’t.”

John guided Lucy to a chair and sat next to her, handing her a handkerchief as she broke down, not for the first time that night. “I know. I was trying to stop him too.”

“I’m so sorry! He was your friend, and he loved you, and I-”

“It’s okay,” John said. “In a strange way, I always knew something like this would happen. You did what you felt you had to.” He wrapped an arm around Lucy and let her cry on his shoulder. Turning to Vastra, he said, “Before she goes in, call our solicitor, Whitaker. He’ll make sure she’s well represented in court. Rose and I will take care of it.”

Vastra nodded, as Jenny came back into the room. “I spoke to the butler, he said he’d give your message to Rose and wait up to let you in.”

John smiled a little. Of course Mr. Mott would wait up, even if it would be well after midnight by the time he arrived. “Thank you,” he murmured. “Thank you for everything. It’s time for me to go home.”

He got his keys back from Vastra and almost ran out to the truck. John drove straight through without stopping, as fast as he dared in the dark. When he got into the village, relief and anticipation surged in his chest, rising further still when he pulled up the drive to Bucknall House. He left the truck parked right in front of the doors, which opened and flooded the steps with light as he bounded in. 

“Mr. Mott,” he said, nodding.

“Mr. Smith,” the butler said. “You look absolutely atrocious. Should I send for Jones?”

“No, don’t wake him,” John insisted, barely stopping in the Great Hall. “And let him sleep in tomorrow.” He took the stairs two at a time, not caring if anyone heard him.

***

Rose had been in the library by herself, nursing a glass of port while she waited for John, when he finally called. She almost wept and fell into Mr. Mott’s arms when he told her that John was okay. Instead, she hurried to change out of her dinner clothes and into something warm, and ran to get the Tower ready. She tidied up the toys Tony had left behind and fiddled with the telescope, then sat on the window seat leafing through a book but not really paying attention to it. Just as she leaned against the frame and began to drop off, she heard familiar footsteps on the stairs.

Rose got to her feet as John emerged from the stairwell. He was in quite a state, clothes a mess and hair askew, and his face was an unreadable mix of emotions sunk in exhaustion. There was a dark stain on his jacket that looked suspiciously like blood. They met in the middle of the room and wrapped their arms around each other, John burying his face in Rose’s shoulder.

She felt him trembling as she rubbed his back and guided him over to the window seat, where he laid his head in her lap once they sat down. He smelled like smoke and chemicals, and his face had dark smudges on it. “I just wanted to get home,” he whispered.

“Hey, it’s okay. Just relax,” she said, stroking his hair.

He began to shift, getting up and crossing the room. “I didn’t really think through all the circumstances that could make this possible,” he said, kneeling by the baseboards. He popped a section out and retrieved something from behind it. 

“You kept the secret hiding place!” she exclaimed.

“I did,” he said, coming back to sit next to Rose. “Anyway. I thought this would be different, so it feels a little strange right now. But I said I’d do it the second I could, and I’m sticking to it.” He took Rose’s hand and pressed what he’d retrieved into her palm. 

She felt cool metal, warmed slightly from his skin, and as his fingers retreated she gasped. 

“Saxon was mad. He was keeping all the workers there against their will, had some plan to strengthen the population with Vitex. But Lucy started a fire, and then...”

Rose stared at her hand, and the delicate ring resting in it. “John…”

“She had a gun, Rose. I couldn’t save him. He’s… Koschei’s gone.” Rose looked up and John’s eyes were shining but determined. 

“I’m so sorry,” she said, forgetting about the ring in favour of John’s distress, pulling him back into a hug. “I know you still cared about him.” 

John nodded and drew away, steadying his breaths and wiping away tears with the back of his hand. “I did.” He took Rose’s hands, picked up the ring. “Like I said, I promised to give you this ring the moment I was free to marry you, and now I am. Saxon was the only one we couldn’t count on not to talk, and, well, this isn’t exactly the most romantic way to propose, I know, I would have liked to do something a little grander, but-”

He went to slip the ring onto Rose’s finger, but she stopped him. “It might not be grand,” she said, smiling to reassure him, “but perhaps it would help you feel better if you asked me properly.”

“I suppose it might,” he admitted, chuckling sheepishly as he sank to one knee on the floor. “Rose Marion Tyler, you’ve changed my life and shown me more love than I ever thought possible, so it would feel selfish to ask you for more if we hadn’t already decided this together. But just to be sure - will you marry me?”

Rose had lit up with a huge grin as soon as he said her name, and now she nodded furiously. “Yes. Yes, absolutely, I will.” 

John finally adorned Rose’s hand with the ring and beamed up at her. She responded with a kiss so forceful he toppled backwards, pinned down at the hands and lips, both of them laughing. Gazing up at her, he brushed Rose’s hair behind her ear and cupped her cheek. She kissed him again and moved off so they could both sit up.

“Did you come straight up here from…?”

“The factory? Yeah.” He eyed his clothes suspiciously. “I’m sure I look awful.”

“You _are_ a bit sooty,” Rose said, trying to wipe off his cheek with her thumb. “Go get yourself cleaned up and come back. I’ve brought up tea and blankets. Tony says Venus is supposed to look great this week.”

“Quite right, too,” he chuckled. John got to his feet and helped Rose up, then leaned down to kiss her. 

John ran downstairs and washed up as fast as he could, and ran right back up to the Tower. He helped Rose arrange the ladder and pass up the telescope, tea, and blankets. They made a little nest on the roof, and snuggled into each others’ arms to watch the stars, until Rose fell asleep and the sun began to rise.


	47. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the very end! Thanks for sticking with me if you’ve been following along, and if you’ve been waiting for it to be finished before you started reading, go! Now’s your chance! I’ll wait. Okay, now that you’re back, thanks for reading all of that. Here’s the happily ever after. You knew it was coming.

_Six months earlier…_

Just after Christmas, Bucknall was hit with a massive snowstorm, the kind with winds strong enough to blow the snow sideways. It drifted up past the windowsills on one side of the House, and the residents were stuck inside for almost two days.

John patrolled all the rooms, checking that the repairs and sealing he’d done on all the windows was holding up. So far everything was fine, and he was about to head to the next room when Donna accosted him.

“Oh, good, I was just looking for you,” she said. “Lady Jacqueline wants to see you in her sitting room.”

“She what?” John asked. He’d never been in that room, aside from doing in the windows in it. 

“She wants to talk to you,” she said, turning John around and marching him back to the second floor. “Don’t ask why. But she’s in a decent mood. Maybe a little sad, but decent. Go on.”

Donna left John in front of Lady Jacqueline’s door, which he knocked on. “Come in!”

John poked his head around the door. “You wanted to see me?”

“Oh, yes, John, come in. That was faster than I expected,” Lady Jacqueline said. She was sitting at a small table with a few jewelry boxes on it. John had forgotten how aggressively powder blue this room was, from the walls to the settee Lady Jacqueline was on, patting the space next to her. “Come, sit here.”

John perched beside her, eyes darting around the room. He wondered if he’d just walked into some kind of trap. “Is everything okay?” he asked.

“Oh, just fine. Donna was just helping me clean and organise my jewelry when I was reminded of something,” she said. “Actually, I first thought of it at Christmas, when I saw you give Rose your mother’s necklace. That must have meant a lot to you.”

“It did,” he answered softly. “I didn’t take much with me when I left Gallifrey. Just that, and a few pictures…”

“Well,” Lady Jacqueline said, “I know Pete and I told you that we approved of your relationship with our daughter.”

“Which we are so, _so_ grateful for,” John interjected.

“I can tell,” Lady Jacqueline smiled. “He and I talked about the two of you often, before he died. We just kept noticing how happy the two of you are, and… well.” Lady Jacqueline seemed a bit flummoxed, fidgeting with everything on the table, finally opening up a large case and plucking a small box from it. “I wanted to wait and see for a bit - you know how young love can be - but the way you looked at Rose when she put your mother’s necklace on-” She found her handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes, opened the box, and snapped it shut again. “We decided to set this aside anyway, just in case.”

Finally, she thrust the little box into John’s hands. It was covered in dark blue velvet, soft and worn nearly bare in parts where it had been thumbed open over and over for many years. “In case of what - ohhhh.” He popped open the box, and understood. The ring inside was a delicately filigreed band of white gold, set with a few modest diamonds. “Oh, Lady Jacqueline, I can’t - I couldn’t -” 

“Nonsense. The stones have been in my family for over a century, but my grandmother had this setting done up for my eighteenth birthday,” Lady Jacqueline asid. “Now, it ought to stay in the family, and it ought to be worn every day, don’t you think?”

“Lady Jacqueline, you know it might not be worn for a very long time,” John said carefully. “I don’t know when, or if, Rose and I would be free to marry.”

“Oh, I know, you’ve got your challenges,” Lady Jacqueline said, waving them off. “Even if it never happens, I want you to hold onto it. Give it to her on some other special occasion if you like, I don’t mind. She’ll understand the meaning.”

John took the ring out of the box and examined it closely, though the details were blurred by the tears welling in his eyes. “Thank you,” he said, carefully putting it away and tucking the box in his pocket. “It’s beautiful, she’ll love it.”

Lady Jacqueline passed John her handkerchief and he chuckled as he dried his eyes. “Now that’s what I wanted to hear,” she said.

***

_The following autumn…_

Mickey tapped John’s shoulder, and he jumped. “The ring, mate.”

Like the last time he’d stood with Mickey at the front of Bucknall’s church, John had been so distracted by Rose Tyler that he’d missed his cue. This time, though, he was the groom, and Rose was right in front of him, resplendent in a white gown. Her family tiara glittered beneath her veil, and she carried a cascading bouquet of honeysuckle, ivy, and stephanotis. 

He knew he had matching flowers on the lapel of his morning coat, he knew Lady Jacqueline was wearing pink and hadn’t stopped crying since she sat down in the front pew, and he knew Tony was fidgeting and waiting impatiently for cake. None of that mattered - he’d paid enough attention to the vicar to recite his vows, but then Rose smiled at him again, and, well, he was a lost cause when she did that. 

The guests and Rose laughed as John sheepishly accepted the ring from Mickey, placing it on the vicar’s Bible to be blessed. Seeing it next to the one Rose would give to him, he suddenly choked up. “W-with this ring, I thee wed,” he stammered.

Rose evidently noticed his shaking hands and watery smile, and once the ring was on her finger, she turned her hands to give his a little squeeze. “Almost done,” she whispered, before presenting John with his ring much more confidently. 

John marvelled for a moment at the weight and feeling of the plain gold band on his finger, before grinning and Rose and looking expectantly at the vicar. 

“You may kiss the bride.”

Did he ever.

***

The evening was cool, but nice enough that the doors to the terrace were left open during John and Rose’s reception. Bucknall House’s Great Hall was filled with flowers, music, friends, and family. Martha had managed to get away from medical school to be Rose’s matron of honour, and Harriet Jones came fresh from a sitting of Parliament. Amelia and Rory had even come in from the City, since Rose _had_ to have Amelia make the wedding cake.

The receiving line had just ended, and not soon enough - if John had to shake hands with one more second-cousin-twice-removed’s wife’s brother-in-law, he was going to collapse - but Mr. Mott approached, saying there was one more guest. 

“Mr. Smith, there’s a gentleman at the door without an invitation,” he said. “He claims to be your brother?”

“What?” John and Rose exclaimed in unison. John froze, until Rose excused them both from the guests.

“How would he know to come here?” Rose asked.

“I wrote to him, like you said I should,” John said, quickening his pace to the front door. “But that was months ago. I didn’t think he’d…” He broke into a jog, not entirely sure what to expect. 

Taller, certainly, and more worn, perhaps, but there he was in a military uniform, hat tucked under his arm, studying the painting in the foyer. 

“Irving?”

He turned, and both broke into matching smiles. “John!”

The brothers embraced warmly, clapping each other on the back. “How did you-” John started. 

“I got your letter about a week ago,” he said. “I’ve been posted overseas the past two years. Thankfully Mrs. Trelundar holds my mail, and she saved your wedding announcement from the paper. Tiny thing, amazed she saw it. Anyway, I hopped on the train as soon as I realised the date, and here I am.”

“Rose’s mother insisted we put an announcement out,” John said. “Are you still in touch, then? How’s Romana? Is the house still there?” 

“All in good time, little brother,” he laughed. “You still haven’t introduced me to your bride.”

John looked over his shoulder to where Rose stood, waiting patiently with a smile on her face until he extended an arm. “Rose, this is my brother, Irving Smith. Irving, Lady Rose Tyler, Countess of Powell, my wife.” As Rose and Irving shook hands, John felt rather tickled. “That’s the first time I’ve done that, introduced you as my wife. I like the way that sounds.”

“I do too,” Rose chuckled. “Tell me, was he this chatty and easily distracted as a boy?”

“Oh yes. I’m surprised we’re not still at the church,” Irving teased. “My apologies for crashing your wedding, Lady Powell. I’m not one to sneak into places, but it’s not every day your baby brother gets married.”

“Nonsense, you’re family now, and we’re very glad you’re here,” Rose said. “Come in, let’s get you a drink.” 

The night passed in a whirl of drinks, dancing, good wishes, and good fun. Lady Jacqueline burst into tears of joy at regular intervals, and Tony finally got his cake. Amelia caught Rose’s bouquet when she tossed it from the staircase, making Rory blush as red as Amelia’s hair. John managed to stifle his yawns, but had to admit he was jealous when Tony was finally sent upstairs, well after his bedtime. He could tell Rose was getting tired too, so he was relieved when she slipped him a folded piece of paper.

_West Tower. Ten minutes._

He glanced up at her, across the knot of people they were with, and grinned. She smiled back with her tongue in her teeth. Even if he wasn’t in Bucknall House, John knew - with Rose, he was home.


End file.
